i^'^ Library of Congress."'! 



Chap. 



Shelf. 



g>; — . = ^ 

i >^UN1TEB STATES OF AMERICA. 

'0^^^ 9—167 





I 




A 

MANUAL OF ETHICS. 



/ BY 

JOHN S. MACKENZIE, M.A., 

Professor of Logic and Philosophy in the University College of South Wales and 
Monmouthshire ; late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, 



THIRD EDITION. 

REVISED, ENLARGED, AND IN PART REWRITTEN. 



UNIVERSITY CORRESPONDENCE COLLEGE PRESS, 
London : W. B. CLIVE, ' I 

13 Booksellers Row, 

Strand, W.C. 



New York : HINDS & NOBLE, 

4 Cooper Institute. 



1897 



SECOND COPY, 



^^^^ 



53956 



Copjright, 1897, by W. B. Clive. 



PREFACE. 



This handbook is intended primarily for the use of 
private students, and especially for those who are prepar- 
ing for such examinations in Ethics as those conducted 
by the University of London. It is hoped, however, that 
it will be found useful also by other classes of readers. 
Its design is to give, in brief compass, an outline of the 
most important principles of ethical doctrine, so far as 
these can be understood without a knowledge of Meta- 
physics. 

To do this satisfactorily is by no means easy ; and I 
can hardly hope that I have been successful in overcom- 
ing the difficulties. The theory of Ethics must, I believe, 
in the end rest on Metaphysics ; and what it is possible 
to do without Metaphysics can be little more than a clear- 
ing of the ground, and a leading up to the metaphysical 
principles that are involved in the subject, The system 
of metaphysical truth, however, is like a city with many 
gates ; and perhaps the student may enter it by the ethical 
gate as profitably as by any other. It has been my aim, 
at any rate, to conduct the student gradually inwards from 
the psychological outworks to the metaphysical founda- 
tion. 

It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that the meta- 
physical point of view adopted in this Manual is 
that of the school of Idealism — /. e. the school founded 

V 



vi 



PREFACE. 



by Kant and developed by Hegel, Green, and others. 
In this respect the present Text-book is similar to 
two other treatises which appeared a little before it— 
Dewey's Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics^ and Muir- 
head's Elements of Ethics^ If these books had been 
published before this one was arranged for, it is probable 
that it would never have been undertaken. As it is, I 
can only plead that the subject is handled in this work in 
a way slightly different from that in which it is taken up 
by either of the other two, and that it may consequently 
in some respects satisfy a want which neither of them 
fully meets. I hope, however, that readers of my book 
will, as far as possible, consult the other two also. Where 
there is a general harmony of point of view, a compari- 
son of the methods of treatment adopted by different 
writers on points of detail is often of the greatest value 
to the student. I think it would be especially useful for 
readers of this book, w^ho have time to spare, to compare 
it in this way with Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, The 
latter work is designed for a slightly different purpose ; 
and at many points it will be found to supply a very use- 
ful supplement to the present treatise by presenting the 
same general ideas in a somewhat different light. For 
the convenience of students who may use it in this way, 
I have inserted frequent references to Mr. Muirhead's 
book, and have indicated the main points of divergence. 

^ Other two books which have since appeared — Professor James 
Seth's Study of Ethical Principles and Mr. C. F. D'Arcy's Shoi't 
Study of Ethics — are also written from a point of view which is to a 
large extent similar. In both of these books there is a good deal of 
space devoted to the discussion of the metaphysical basis; but in 
neither case does the discussion appear satisfactory. On the whole 
I have thought it best to leave such discussions to works that are ex- 
pressly metaphysical in character. 



PREFACE. 



My obligations to the leading exponents of the science 
are sufficiently obvious, and need not be specially ac- 
knowledged. In particular, how much I owe to Dr. 
Edward Caird will probably be evident to every one who 
is familiar with his writings and teaching. I must, how- 
ever, make some more particular acknowledgment of the 
assistance I have received at various points from several 
friends and critics. 

The proofs of this edition, as w^ell as of the first, have 
been read by Mrs. Gilliland Husband, and I am indebted 
to her for many highly suggestive criticisms. Mr. James 
Welton also read all the proofs of the first edition, and 
Mr. Stout has read all the proofs of the present edition ; 
and from both of these gentlemen I have received valu- 
able assistance. I am also indebted to Professor Alex- 
ander for some useful criticisms ; and, on smaller points, 
to Principal Lloyd Morgan, Professor Sully, Mr. W. T. 
Kenwood, ^Ir. J. A. Clarke, and others. The published 
criticisms by Dr. Bosanquet, Professor Ritchie, Mr. ]\Iuir- 
head. Miss E. E. C. Jones, and others have been very 
helpful. The index at the end of the first edition was 
prepared by Mr. H. Holman ; that at the end of the present 
edition is the work of Mr. \V. F. Trotter, of Trinity Col- 
lege, Cambridge, who has also given me much help in 
verifying references. 

In conclusion, for the sake of those who have been 
using the previous editions, it may be well to give some 
indication of the principal changes that have been made 
in the present one. An effort has been made, in the first 
place, to render the method of treatment more systematic. 
With a view to this, the work has been divided into five 
parts. Of these. Book III. is the part that has been most 
slightly altered. The only changes in this consist in 



viii 



PREFACE. 



insignificant modifications of detail. The Concluding 
Chapter has to do duty for the last two chapters of the 
former editions, and has undergone considerable transfor- 
mation. The references to Art have been almost entirely 
omitted, while the references to Metaphysics have been 
made a good deal more definite. In the Introduction 
some further remarks have been added on the divisions 
into which the treatment of Ethics naturally falls, and 
the statements about the relation of Ethics to practical 
life have been considerably modified. I have found that 
what I said on this subject has been a good deal misun- 
derstood ; and the misunderstanding seemed to be due to 
want of clearness in my exposition, especially in the first 
chapter, I have, accordingly, added a good deal more in 
the way of explanation in this chapter, and have removed 
some passages about the general nature of moral law, 
which seemed specially liable to misinterpretation, and 
have inserted them in Book II., Chap. III., where they 
are perhaps more in place. I have also added a chapter 
at the end of Book II., dealing with the general subject 
of the bearing of Theory on Practice. I hope I may have 
succeeded in this way in removing the impression, which 
appears to have been created in some minds, that I thought 
it to be the business of ethical science to construct the 
moral life in vacuo. Nothing could well have been fur- 
ther from my intentions ; and, if I have overestimated 
the practical significance of philosophical reflection, I 
have at least not forgotten either the dictum of Hegel ' 

* Philosophy, as the thought of the world, does not appear until 
reality has completed its formative process, and made itself ready. . . . 
When philosophy paints its grey in grey, one form of life has be- 
come old, and by such painting it cannot be rejuvenated, but only 
known. The owl of Minerva takes its flight only when the shades 



PREFACE. 



or the epigram of Bradley/ or the gibe of Schiller.^ I do 
not hold, with Coleridge, that " the only kind of common 
sense worth having is that which is based on Metaphysics ; " 
but I do certainly believe that there is not much value in 
any kind of common sense that cannot be vindicated 
by philosophical reflection ; and I think that, when it is 
thus vindicated, it is at the same time enlightened. 

The most considerable alterations, however, occur in 
Book I. I have thought it desirable to add a good deal 
of new^ material on the development of the moral life and 
of the moral judgment. It may be held that these sub- 
jects belong more properly to Sociology and Psychology 
than to Ethics in the stricter sense ; but I have found that 
their absence is a more serious defect than their presence. 
I have also added, at the beginning of Book II., a short 
historical account of the leading points of view in ethical 
theory. 

University College, Cardiff, 
May, 1897. 

of night are gathering." Preface to the Rechtsphilosophie. As a 
counterblast to this, it may be remarked, however, that several 
things seem to have been rejuvenated by Ilegel himself. 

' " Metaphysics is the finding of bad reasons for what we believe 
upon instinct." Preface to Appearajice and Reality. But are the 
reasons always " bad," and are they always " for " 
^ Doch well, was ein Professor spricht, 

Nicht gleich zu Allen dringet. 

So iibt Xatur die Mutterpflicht 

Und sorgt, dass nie die Kette bricht, 

Und dass der Reif nie springet. 

Einstweilen, bis den Bau der Welt 

Philosophie zusammenhalt, 

Erhalt sic das Getriebe 

Durch Hunger und durch Liebe." — Die Weltweisen. 



CONTENTS. 



INTRODUCTION. 
Chapter I.— The: Scopk of Kthics. 

PAGB 

§ 1. Definition : The Science of the Ideal in Conduct. 
— ? 2. The Nature of Kthics. It is a Normative 
Science. — ? 3. Ethics not a Practical Science. — ^ 4. 
Ethics not an Art. — § 5. Is there an Art of Conduct ? 
How Conduct is distinguished from the Arts. 
( I ) Virtue Exists only in Activity. ( 2 ) The Essence 
of Virtue lies in the Will. — J 6. Is there any Science 
of Conduct ? — ? 7. Summary i 

Note on Positive and Normative Sciences 20 

Chapte:r II,— TheRkivATion of Ethics to Othe;r Scikncks. 

§ 1. General Statement. — | 2. Physical Science and Ethics. 
— I 3. Biology and Ethics.—^ 4. Psychology and 
Ethics. — § 5. IvOgic, Esthetics and Ethics. — § 6. 
Metaphysics and Ethics. — ^ 7. Ethics and Political 
Philosophy. — §8. Ethics and Economics. — §9. 
Ethics and Paedagogics. — g 10. Concluding Remarks. 23 

Chapte:r III.— The: Divisions of the Subject. 

? 1. General Remarks. — ? 2. The Psychological Aspect of 
Ethics. — I 3. The Sociological Aspect of Ethics. — 
? 4. The Theories of the Moral Standard.—? 5. The 
Concrete Moral lyife. — g 6. Plan of the Present 

Work 35 

X 



xi 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK L 

PROI.EGOMENA, CHIEFLY PSYCHOIvOGICAIv. 
Chapter I.— Desire and Wit,!,. 

PAGE 

§ 1. Introductory Remarks — §2. General Nature of Desire. 
— § 3. Want and Appetite. — | 4. Appetite and De 
sire. — ? 5. Universe of Desire. — § 6. Conflict of De- 
sires— § 7. Desire and Wish.— | 8. Wish and Will. 
— ? 9. Will and Act.—? 10. The Meaning of Pur- 
pose. — § 11. Will and Character 43 



Chapter II. — Motive and Intextiox. 

J 1. Preliminary Remarks. — ^ 2. The Meaning of Inten- 
tion. — I 3. The Meaning of Motive. — § 4. Relation 
between Motives and Intentions. — § 5. Is the Motive 
always Pleasure? — ? 6. Psychological Hedonism. — 
I 7. The Object of Desire, (i) The Paradox of 
Hedonism. — | 8. The Object of Desire. (2) Wants 
prior to Satisfactions. — § 9. The Object of Desire. (3) 
Pleasures and Pleasure. — § 10. Can Reason Ser\^e as 
a Motive ? — § 11. Is Reason the only Motive ? — § 12. 
How Motives are Constituted 59 

Note on Pleasure and Desire 79 



Chapter III. — Character and Coxduct. 

§ 1. General Remarks. — § 2. Character. — ? 3. Conduct. 
— § 4. Circumstance.—? 5. Habit.—? 6. The Free- 
dom of the Will. — I 7 . Freedom Essential to Morals. 
— 18. Necessity Essential to Morals.— ?. 9. The True 
Sense of Freedom. — | 10. Animal Spontaneity. — 
§ 11. Human Liberty.— | 12. The Highest Free- 
dom. — § 13. The Nature of Voluntary- Action 83 



Note on Responsibility 



lOl 



CONTENTS. 



xii 



Chapter IV.— EvoIvUTion of Conduct. 

PAGE 

g 1. Introductory Statement. — § 2. Germs of Conduct "in 
the Lower Animals. — § 3. Conduct among Savages. — 
? 4. The Guidance of Conduct by Custom.— g 5. The 
Guidance of Conduct by Law. — § 6. The Guidance 
of Conduct by Ideas. — g 7. Action and Reflection. — 
^ 8. Moral Ideas and Ideas about Morality. — § 9. 
The Development of the Moral Consciousness 104 

Note on Sociology 113 



Chapte:r V. — The; Growth oi^ the: Morai, Judgment. 

§ 1. The Earliest Forms of the Moral Judgment.— g 2. The 
Tribal Self.—? 3. The Origin of Conscience.—? 4. 
Custom as the Moral Standard. — ? 5. Positive Law as 
the Moral Standard.—? 6. The Moral Law.—? 7. 
Moral Conflict. — ? 8. The Individual Conscience as 
Standard.—? 9. The Growth of the Reflective Judg- 
ment. — ? 10. Illustrations from Ancient Peoples. — 
§ 11. General Nature of Moral Development 114 



Chapter IV. — The: Significance: of the: Morai, 

JUDGMKNT. 

? 1. The Nature of the Moral Judgment.—? 2. The Object 
of the Moral Judgment.—? 3. The Good Wiil.— ? 4. 
Judgment on Act and on Agent. — ? 5. Is the Moral 
Judgment concerned with Motives or with Inten- 
tions ? — ? 6. The Moral Judgment is partly concerned 
with Motives. — ? 7. But the Judgment is really on 
Character.—? 8. The Subject of the Moral Judg- 
ment.—? 9. The Moral Connoisseur.—? 10. The 
Impartial Spectator. — ? 11. The Ideal Self 127 



Note on the Meaning of Conscience 



146 



xiii 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK II. 

THEORIES OF THE MORAIv STANDARD. 
Chapter I.— The: Devei^opmknt op Ethicai, Thought. 

PAGE 

g 1. Early Greek Ethics. — | 2. The Sophists. — ? 3, 
Socrates.—^ 4. The Schools of Ethical Thought.— 
I 5. Plato and Aristotle.— § 6. Mediaeval Ethics. 
— § 7. Schools of Ethics in Modern Times 147 

Chapter II. — The Types op Ethicai, Theory. 

§ 1. General Snrvey. — | 2, Reason and Passion. — | 3. 
The Right and the Good. — § 4. Duty, Happiness, 
Perfection. — § 5. Mixed Theories 156 

Chapter III.— The Standard as Law. 

Part I. The General Idea op Moral Law. ? 1. In- 
troductory Remarks. — ^ 2. The Meaning of Law in 
Ethics. — ^ 3. Is, Must be, and Ought to be. — | 4. 
The Categorical Imperative. — Part II. Various 
Conceptions op the Moral Law. — § 5. The Law 
of the Tribe.— § 6. The Law of God.— 1 7. The Law 
of Nature.— § 8. The Moral Sense.— g 9. The Law 
of Conscience. — ? 10. Intuitionism. — ^ 11. The Law 
of Reason. — Part III. The Doctrine op Kant. 
I 12. Kant's View of the Moral Reason.—? 13. 
Criticism of Kant, (i) Formalism. — § 14. Criti- 
cism of Kant. (2) Stringency. — g 15. Real Signifi- 
cance of the Kantian Principle 162 

Note on Kant 203 

Chapter IV.— The Standard as Happiness. 

§ 1. Introductory Remarks. — § 2. Higher and Lower 
Universes. — ? 3. Satisfaction of Desires. — § 4. Varie- 
ties of Hedonism. — § 5. Ethical Hedonism. — § 6, 
Quantity of Pleasure.— ^ 7. Egoistic Hedonism, — 



CONTENTS. 



xiv 



§ 8. Universalistic Hedonism.—? 9. General Criti- 
cism of Hedonism, (a) Pleasure and Value, {d) 
Quality of Pleasures, {c) Kinds of Pleasures, [d) 
Pleasure inseparable from its Object, (e) Pleasures 
cannot be summed. {/) Matter without Form. 
§ 10. Relation of Happiness to the Self. — § 11. 
Self-realisation as the End 207 

Chapter V. — The Standard as Peri^Ection. 

§ 1. Application of Evolution to Morals. — | 2. Develop- 
ment of Ivife. — g 3. Higher and Ivower Views of De- 
velopment. — § 4. Explanation by Beginning. — § 5. 
Mr. Herbert Spencer's View of Ethics.— § 6. Criti- 
cism of Mr. Spencer's View. — ? 7. Views of other 
Evolutionists. — ? 8. Natural Selection in Morals. — 
§ 9. Need of Teleology.—! 10. Explanation by End. 
— § 11. Green's View of Ethics.—? 12. The True 
Self. — I 13. The real Meaning of Self -consistency^ — 
§ 14. The real Meaning of Happiness. — § 15. Transi- 
tion to Applied Ethics 234 

Chapter VI.— The Bearing oe Theory on Practice. 

? 1. Different Views.— § 2. Relation of Different Views to 
the Various Ethical Theories.— | 3. The Intuitionist 
View.— § 4. The Utilitarian View.—? 5. The Evolu- 
tionist View.— I 6. The IdeaHstic View.—? 7. Sum- 
mary of Results. — ? 8. Comparison between Ethics 
and I^ogic— ? 9. The Treatment of Applied Ethics. 255 

BOOK III. 

THE MORAL LIFE. 

Chapter I.— The Sociai^ Unity. 

? 1. The Social Self.—? 2. Society a Unity.—? 3. Egoism 
and Altruism.—? 4. Mr. Spencer's Conciliation. — 
? 5. Self-realisation through Self-sacrifice.—? 6, 



XV 



CONTENTS. 



Ethics a Part of Politics.—? 7. Plato's View of 
Ethics.—^ 8. Aristotle's View of Ethics.— g 9. Cos- 
mopolitism. — g 10. Christian Ethics. — | 11, The 
Social Universe. — § 12. Society an Organism. — | 13. 
Why is the Social Universe to be Preferred ? — § 14. 
Relation of Conscience to the Social Unity 273 



Chapter II. — Morai, Institutions. 

§ 1. The Social Imperative. — g 2. Justice. — ? 3. Law and 
Public Opinion. — § 4. Rights and Obligations. — 
I 5. The Rights of Man. {a) Life, (d) P^reedom. 
{c) Property, {d) Contract, {e) Education. — g 6. 
Ultimate Meaning of Rights and Obligations. — | 7. 
Social Institutions. ( a ) The Family. ( d ) The Work- 
shop, (c) The Civic Community, (d) The Church. 
{e) The State. (/) Friendship.—^ 8. Social Pro- 
gress. — 2 9, Individualism and Socialism 291 

Note on Justice 311 



Chapter III.— The Duties. 

? 1. Nature of Moral Laws.—? 2. Respect for Life.— § 3. 
Respect for Freedom. — § 4. Respect for Character. — 
J 5. Respect for Property. — ? 6. Respect for Social 
Order.— i 7. Respect for Truth.—? 8. Respect for 
Progress. — ? 9. Casuistry, — ? 10. The Supreme Law. 
— ? 11. Conventional Rules. — § 12. Duties of Per- 
fect and Imperfect Obligation. — ? 13. My Station 
and its Duties , 314 

Note on Rules of Conduct 331 



Chapter IV.— The Virtues. 

g 1. Relation of the Virtues to the Commandments. — 
? 2. Virtues relative to States of Society.—? 3. The 
Ethos of a People. — ? 4. The Virtues relative to 
the Social Functions. — ? 5. The Nature of Virtue. — 
? 6. The Cardinal Virtues.—? 7. Education of 
Character.—? 8. The Moral Syllogism 334 



CONTENTS. 



XVI 



Chapter V.— Th^ Individuai, I^ii^^. 

PAGE 

§ 1. The Higher Individualism. — § 2. Conversion. — § 3. 
Conscientiousness. — g 4. Self-Kxamination. — ^ 5. 
The Study of the Ideal.—? 6. The Monastic Life.— 
? 7. Beautiful Souls.—? 8. Asceticism.—? 9. The 
Contemplative Life. — ? 10. Relation of the Inner 
to the Outer Life.—? 11. The Virtuous Man and the 
World.—? 12. The Moral Reformer 354 



ChapTe:r VI.— Morai, PATH01.OGY. 

? 1. Moral Evil.-? 2. Vice.—? 3. Sin.—? 4. Crime.— 
? 5. Punishment. — ? 6. Theories of Punishment. — 
? 7. Responsibility. — ? 8. Remorse. — ? 9. Reforma- 
tion. — ? 10. Forgiveness. — ? 11. Social Corruption. 373 

Note on Moral Sanctions 393 



Chapter VII.— Morai. Progress. 

? 1. Social Evolution.-? 2. The Moral Universe.—? 3. 
Inner Contradictions in our Universe. — ? 4. Sense of 
Incompleteness. — ? 5. Deepening of Spiritual Life. 
— ? 6. New Obligations. — ? 7. Moral Change and 
Change of Environment. — ? 8. The Ideal Universe... 397 



C0NC1.UDING Chapter. — Ethics and Metaphysics. 

? 1. General Remarks.—? 2. Validity of the Ideal.—? 3. 
Morality and Religion. — ? 4. The Relation of Reli- 
gion to Art. — ? 5. The Necessity of Religion. — ? 6. 
The Failure of Life.—? 7. The Failure of Society.— 
? 8. The Failure of Art.—? 9. The Demand for the 
Infinite. — ? 10. The Two Infinites. — ? 1 1 . The 
First Religion.— ? 12. The Second Religion.—? 13. 
The Third Religion.—? 14. Religion and Supersti- 
tion. — ? 15. The Essential Significance of Religion. 
— ? 16. The Ultimate Problems of Metaphysics 415 

Appendix. Note on Ethical Literature , . 439 

Index . 443 



INTRODUCTION. 



CHAPTER L 

THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 

§ 1. Definition. The Science of the Ideal m Con- 
duct, — Ethics is the science of Conduct. It considers 
the actions of human beings with reference to their 
rightness or wrongness, their tendency to good or to 
evil. The name '^Ethics" is derived from the Greek 
rarjdr/A. This again comes from 3^(^09, meaning char- 
acter ; and this is connected with e^^?, custom or 
habit. Similarly, the term Moral Philosophy/' which 
means the same thing as Ethics, is derived from the 
Latin mores, meaning habits or customs. Ethics, 
then, we may say, discusses men's habits and cus- 
toms, or in other words their characters, the principles 
on which they habitually act, and considers what it is 
that constitutes the rightness or wrongness of these 
principles, the good or evil of these habits. These 
terms, however, ''Right'' and ''Good," seem to re- 
quire a little explanation. 

{a) Right. The term "Right" is derived from the 

Latin rectus, meaning "straight'' or "according to 

rule." The Greek word corresponding to it is Scxato(^, 

which also meant originally "according to rule/' 
Eth. I 



2 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I. 



When we say, then, that conduct is right, we mean 
primarily that it is according to rule. Rules, however, 
have reference to some result to be achieved by them ; 
and it is this fact that is indicated by the second term, 
''Good." 

(b) Good. The term ''Good 'Ms connected with the 
German gu/, and contains the same root as the Greek 
dya06<$. A thing is generally said to be good when it 
is valuable for some end. Thus, particular kinds of 
medicine are said to be good for this or that complaint. 
Similarly, when we speak of conduct as good, we may 
mean that it is serviceable for the end we have in 
view. ^ It should be carefully observed, however, that 
the term "good" is also used (perhaps even more fre- 
quently) to signify not something which is a means to 
an end, but something which is itself taken as an end. 
Thus the summum honum^ or supreme good, means the 
supreme end at which we aim. 

Thus, when we say that the science of Ethics is con- 
cerned with the rightness or goodness of human con- 
duct, we mean that it is concerned with the considera- 
tion of the serviceableness of our conduct for some end 
at which we aim, and with the rules by which our 
conduct is to be directed in order that this end may be 
attained.^ But if we are to consider the serviceable- 
ness of our actions to an end, and the rules by which 
this end is to be attained, it is evident that we must 
have some understanding of the nature of the end it- 
self Now there are many ends to which our actions 

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 65. Also, Spencer's Data of 
Ethics, chap. iii. 

2 This statement must be regarded as provisional. It is to some 
extent modified by the following paragraphs. 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



3 



r..:iy be directed, e. g. the building of a house, the writ- 
i J of a book, the passing of an examination, and so 
( ■;. But since Ethics is the science of Conduct as a 
\.hole, and not of any particular kinds of Conduct, it 
i \ not any of these special ends that it sets itself to 
consider, but the supreme or ultimate end to which 
our whole lives are directed. This end is commonly 
referred to as the Summum Bo7iu??i or Supreme Good. 

Now it is no doubt open to question at the outset, 
whether there can be said to be any one supreme end 
in human life. ]\Ien aim at various objects. Some 
desire wealth ; others, independence ; others, power. 
Some are eager for fame ; others, for knowledge ; 
others, for love ; and some again find their highest 
good in loving and serving others. ^ Some are fond of 
excitement; others, of peace. Some fill their lives 
with many-sided interests — art and science, and the 
development of social and political institutions ; others 
are tempted to regard all these as vanity, and some- 
times even, turning from them all in disgust, to believe 
that the best thing of all w^ould be to die and be at 
rest; 2 while others again fix their highest hopes on a 
life beyond death, to be perfected in a better world 
than this. But a little consideration serves to show 
that many of these ends cannot be regarded as ulti- 

1 "This is shown by the deUght that mothers take in loving ; for 
some give their children to others to rear, and love them since they 
know them, but do not look for love in return, if it be impossible to 
have both, being content to see their children doing well, and loving 
them, though they receive from them, in their ignorance, nothing of 
what is due to a mother." — Aristotle's Ethics^ VHI, viii. 3. 

2 See, for instance, Shakespeare's Sonnet LXVI. — " Tired with all 
these, for restful death I cry," &c., and cf. Byron and the modern 
Pessimists, passim. 



4 



ETHICS. 



[INTROD., CH. I. 



mate. If, for instance, we were to question those who 
are seeking for wealth or independence or power, we 
should generally find that they would explain their 
desire for these objects by enumerating the advantages 
which the attainment of the desired objects would 
bring. The possibility of such an explanation proves 
that these objects are not regarded as ultimate ends by 
those who pursue them, but are desired for the sake of 
something else. Still, we hardly seem to be justified 
in starting with the assumption that there is any one 
ultimate end in human life. The question whether 
any such end can be discovered is rather one that 
must be discussed in the course of our study. What 
it is necessary for us to assume is simply that there is 
some ideal in life, e. that there is some standard of 
judgment by reference to w^hich we are able to say 
that one form of conduct is better than another. What 
the nature of this ideal or standard is — whether it has 
reference to a single ultimate end, to a set of rules 
imposed upon us by some authority, to an ideal type 
of human life which we are somehow enabled to form 
for ourselves, or in what other possible way it is deter- 
mined — we must endeavour to discover as we go on. 
In the meantime it seems sufficient to define Ethics as 
the science 0/ the ideal involved in human life,^ 

§ 2. The Nature of Ethics. // is a Norinative Sci- 
ence. — The fact that Ethics is concerned with an end 
or ideal or standard serves at once to distinguish it 
from most other sciences. Most sciences are con- 

1 On the general nature of the science of Ethics, the reader may 
consult Sidgwick's History of Ethics, Chap. I. ; Muirhead's Elements 
of Ethics, Book I. ; Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, Introduction ; and 
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book I., Chap. I. 



§2.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



5 



cerned with certain uniformities of our experience — 
with the ways in which certain classes of objects (such 
as rocks or plants) are found to exist, or with the ways 
in which certain classes of events (such as the phe- 
nomena of sound or electricity) are found to occur. 
Such sciences have no direct reference to any end that 
is to be achieved or to any ideal by reference to which 
the facts are judged. The knowledge which they com- 
municate may, indeed, be useful for certain purposes. 
A knowledge about rocks is useful for those who wish 
to build houses or to sink mines. A knowledge about 
electricity is useful for those who wish to protect their 
buildings or to form telegraphic communications. But 
the truth of the sciences that deal with such subjects 
as these is in no way affected by the ends which they 
may thus be made to subserve. Knowledge about 
the nebulae is as much a part of the science of astron- 
omy as knowledge about the solar system, though the 
latter can be directly turned to account in the art of 
navigation, while the former has no direct practical 
utility. The science of Ethics, then, is distinguished 
from the natural sciences, inasmuch as it has a direct 
reference to an end that men desire to attain, or a 
type to which they wish to approximate. 

It is not by any means the only science, however, 
which has such a reference. On the contrary, there is 
a whole class of sciences of this character. These are 
commonly called the normative sciences — i, e, the sci- 
ences that lay down rules or laws or, more strictly, 
that seek to define a standard or ideal with reference 
to which rules or laws may be formulated. Of this 
kind are the science of medicine (/* e. Hygienics), 
which deals with the nature of the distinction between 



6 



ETHICS. 



[INTROD., CHc I. 



health and disease, and with the rules to be observed 
for the attainment of health, or for the avoidance and 
removal of disease ; the science of architecture, which 
deals with the types to be aimed at and the rules to be 
observed in the construction of buildings, with a view 
to their stability, convenience, and beauty ; the sci- 
ence of navigation, which deals with the aims and 
principles involved in the management of ships ; the 
science of rhetoric, which deals with the principles of 
persuasiveness and beauty of style ; the science of 
logic, which deals with the conditions of correct think- 
ing. Most of these sciences are of a mixed character, 
being partly concerned with the analysis of facts, and 
partly with the definition of ends or ideals and with 
the statement of rules to be observed for the at- 
tainment of them. Thus the science of medicine 
deals with the facts of disease as well as with the 
nature and conditions of health, and the science of 
architecture discusses the ways in which buildings 
have been constructed at various periods of man's 
history, as well as the ways in which it is most desir- 
able that buildings should be constructed. Sometimes, 
indeed, these two sides of a science are so evenly 
balanced, that it is difficult to say whether it ought 
properly to be regarded as a natural or a normative 
science. This is notably the case with regard to 
political economy. But in all such cases it is possible 
to separate the two sides of the science, and to con- 
sider them as forming in reality two distinct, though 
closely connected, sciences. 

In the case of Ethics, the normative side is by far 
the more important ; but the other side is not entirely 
absent. There are ethical facts as well as ethical laws 



§2.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



7 



and ideals. Thus the ideas of the Thugs, who are 
said to regard murder as a supreme duty, constitute an 
important fact in the moral life of a certain section of 
mankind ; but no scientific system of ethics is ever 
likely to include such a duty in its statement of the 
moral ideal, any more than a system of medicine is 
likely to express approval of extensive indulgence in 
alcohol or tight lacing. This is no doubt a somewhat 
extreme case; but there are in every community 
certain peculiarities of the moral sense which are in 
reality quite analogous. Thus, much of the conduct 
which is regarded as fine and noble in a modern 
Englishman, would probably have seemed almost 
unintelligible to a cultivated Athenian or to a devout 
Jew in the ancient world ; and much of the conduct 
that one of the latter would have praised, would seem 
to the modern Englishman to lack delicacy or human- 
ity. Now, some of the differences which occur in the 
moral codes of different peoples are not without mean- 
ing even for the student of the moral ideal. A reflective 
moralist, to whatever school of thought he might belong, 
would not approve of quite the same conduct under all 
conditions of life, anymore than a thoughtful physician 
would prescribe the same regimen to an inhabitant of 
Canada as to an inhabitant of India. Different circum- 
stances bring different obligations ; and in the general 
progress of history, there is a progress in the nature of 
the duties that are imposed on men. As Lowell says — 

" New occasions teach new duties : 
Time makes ancient good uncouth." 

Even the strictest of moralists, therefore, might admit 
differences in ethical codes at different times and 



8 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I. 



places. But the differences which we actually find are 
not all of this nature. No system of medicine would 
commend opium and crushed feet ; and no system of 
ethics would regard with equal approval the Code of 
Honour, the Ten Commandments, and the Sermon on 
the Mount. But all these are ethical facts, and have an 
equal right to be chronicled as such, though they have 
not an equal right to be approved. There is a marked 
difference, therefore, between the science which deals 
with the facts of the moral life and that which deals 
with the rules and ideals of the moral life. The former 
science is a part of that wider science which deals with 
the general structure of societies — the science which is 
usually known as Sociology. The latter science, on 
the other hand, is that to which the name of Ethics is 
more strictly appropriated ; and it is with it alone, or 
at least mainly, that we shall be concerned in the 
present work. The former is a natural or positive 
science ; the latter is a normative science. But, of 
course, in dealing with the latter, we can scarcely 
avoid touching on the former. 

§ 3. Ethics not a Practical Science. — There is, 
however, still another distinction which it is important 
to draw. It will be observed that the sciences referred 
to in the foregoing paragraph as normative are not all 
of quite the same kind. Some of them are definitely 
concerned with the consideration of the means required 
for the realisation of certain assignable ends, while 
others are more directly interested in the elucidation 
of the ends or ideals involved in certain forms of 
activity. Perhaps it would be best to confine the term 

normative to the latter kind of science, while the 
former might be more appropriately described as ''prac- 



§ 3-] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 9 

tical/' Medicine (Hygienics) is a practical science, 
rather than a normative one, since its aim is not so 
much that of understanding the ideal of health ^ as 
that of ascertaining the means by which health may 
be best produced. Now, the science of Ethics has 
sometimes been regarded as a practical science in this 
sense. It is generally so regarded by those writers 
who think that it is possible to formulate some one 
simple end at which human beings ought to aim as the 
summum honum. Thus, what is commonly known as 
the Utilitarian school regards the attainment of ''the 
greatest happiness of the greatest number " as the end 
to be aimed at, and conceives that it is the business of 
Ethics to consider the means by which this end may 
be attained, just as the scientific student of public 
health may consider the best means for preventing the 
spread of an infectious disease. The extent to which, 
if at all, it is possible to treat Ethics in this way, will 
have to be considered at a later stage, after we have 
discussed the different views that may be taken of the 
nature of the moral ideal. We shall then see grounds 
for thinking that the moral life cannot be regarded as 
directed towards the attainment of any one simple 
result, and that consequently the means of attaining 
the moral ideal cannot be formulated in any definite set 
of rules. In so far as this is the case, the science of 
Ethics cannot properly be described as practical. It 
must content itself with understanding the nature of 
the ideal, and must not hope to formulate rules for its 
attainment. Hence most writers on Ethics have pre- 
ferred to treat it as a purely speculative, rather than as 
a practical science. This is probably the best view to 

1 Perhaps this is more properly the function of Physiology. 



KTUirs. 



ffNTRr)!)., cir. T. 



I ike. At nny rate, it is ifnj)r)rtant to ()l)scrv(* tliat the 
description of r>thics as " normative" docs not involve 
the view that it has any (h'rect l)earing on practice. Tt 
is the hiisincss of a normative' science to ch^tiiu^ an 
ideal, not to lay down rules for its attainment. /listhe- 
tics, for instance, is a normative science, concerned 
with the standard of Beauty ; ])ut it is no ])art of its 
business to inquire how I»(-aiity i ; j)rofhi( ('(l. So with 
Ethics. It discusses the ideal of ;;oodness or ri|;^htness, 
and is not directly concerned with the means l)y which 
this ideal may be realised. 

Ethics, then, thourh a normative science, is not to bo 
re;sirded as a practical science' 

§4. Ethics not an Art. If I'.tliies is not strictly to 
be classed as a practical science, it ought still less to 
be described as an art. Yet the (piestion has sometimes 
been raised, with regard both to Logic and to Ethics, 
whether botli these de})artm(nls of study arc not ratlier 
of the nature of arts than of sciences, since they have 
both a certain reference to practice. Eogic has some- 
times been called the Aft of 'I'hinl<in<^, ^ and thonjdi 
Etln'cs has ])er]iaps never been described as the Art of 
Conduct, y("t it has oft(Mi been treated as if it were di- 
rectly ( onceniecl with that ait. Now, it may Ix; cpies- 
tioned whether it is (piit(^ ( orrect to s[)e.ak of an art of 
thinking or of an art of conchu t at all. This is a (pies- 
tion to which we shall shortly return. I>ut,at any rate 
it is now jMMierally recojnii/ed that it is best to tr(\it 

1 Tlic extent to vvliicl) it in;iy he re^^ardcd as; !)carin|4 on ])rac lice 
is discussed below, Book II., eliap. vi. All tlie stateincnts made in 
the present chapter must be ref,^lrded as provisional. 

8 Cf. Welton's Manual of Logic, vol. 1. p. 12. 

« This was, in particular, the title of the Port Royal Logic. 



§4.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



II 



both Logic and Ethics as having no direct bearing upon 
these arts. It may be well, however, to notice the 
reasons which have led to the view that these sciences 
are of the nature of arts. 

In the case of every practical science, the question is 
apt to present itself, whether we are really concerned 
with a science at all or rather with an art. And the 
answer seems to be, that if we insist on drawing an abso- 
lute distinction between a science and an art, a practical 
science must be regarded as lying midway between 
them. A science, it is said, teaches us to k?ww, and an 
art /o do ;^ but a practical science teaches us /o know 
how to do. Since, however, such a science is primarily 
concerned with the communication of knowledge, it is 
more properly to be described as a science than as an 
art ; but it is a kind of science that has a very direct 
relation to a corresponding art. There is scarcely any 
art that is not indirectly related to a great number of 
different sciences. The art of painting, for instance, 
may derive useful lessons from the sciences of optics, 
anatomy, botany, geology, and a great variety of 
others. The art of navigation, in like manner, is much 
aided by tlie sciences of astronomy, magnetism, 
acoustics, hydrostatics, and many more. But such 
relationships are comparatively indirect. The depend- 
ence of an art upon its corresponding practical science 
is of a very much closer character. The art of rhetoric 
is a direct application of the science of rhetoric, so far 
as there is any such science ; and the art of fencing, of 
the science of fencing. Indeed, if a practical science 
could be completely worked out into all its details, the 

1 C/". Jevons's Elementary Logic, p./; WcUon's Manual of LogiCt 
vol. i. p, 12 ; Mill's Logic, Introduction. 



12 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. 1. 



art corresponding to it would contain nothing which is 
not included in the science. Perhaps this is the case 
with such an art as that of fencing. Still, even here the 
science and the art are clearly distinguishable. A man 
may be quite familiar with the science, and yet not be 
skilled in the art ; and vice versa. But in most cases 
the distinction is even more marked than this : for the 
art usually includes a great deal that we are not able 
to reduce to science at all. Indeed, some arts are so 
entirely dependent on the possession of a peculiar 
knack or dexterity, or of a peculiar kind of genius, that 
they can scarcely be said to have any science corre- 
sponding to them at all. Thus, for example, there is 
no science of cookery, there is no science of sleight- 
of-hand, there is no science of making jokes, and there 
is no science of poetry. ' 

Now there is no doubt a sense in which conduct, as 
well as thinking, may be said to be an art.^ Both of 
these are activities presupposing certain natural gifts, 
proceeding upon certain principles, and made perfect 
by practice. But such an art as either of these seems 
clearly to be one that cannot be subjected to exact 
scientific treatment. Men of moral genius and large 
experience of life may communicate the fruits of their 

1 Poetry used to be known as " the gay science ; " but the word 
" science " is here used in the sense of "art." The failure to distin- 
guish between these two terms has given rise to much confusion. 
Thus, when Carlyle called political economy "the dismal science/* 
he meant to contrast it w^ith poetry. But it is now generally recog- 
nized that political economy is a science in the stricter sense, though 
partly a practical science, and is not to be classed with arts like 
poetry. 

2 A recent book by Mr. N. P. Oilman and Mr. E. P. Jackson, is en- 
titled Conduct as a Fine Art ; but this reminds one somewhat of De 
Quincey's essay on " Murder regarded as one of the Fine Arts." 



§5.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



13 



experience to mankind, and may thus be said to in- 
struct them in the art of conduct. But it is certainly 
not the business of a student of ethical science as such 
to be a prophet or preacher. Even if Ethics were in 
the strict sense a practical science, it could still only 
deal with the general principles involved in human ac- 
tion. But action itself is concerned with the particular, 
which can never be exhausted by general principles. 
For the communication of the art of conduct ''ex- 
ample is better than precept," and experience is better 
than either ; so that even if it were the business of 
Ethics to lay down precepts {1. e. if it were a practical 
science), these precepts would still not suffice for in- 
struction in the art of life. But as Ethics is a norma- 
tive, rather than a practical, science, it is not even its 
primary business to lay down precepts at all, but rather 
to define the ideal involved in Hfe. How far the defini- 
tion of this ideal may lead on to practical precepts, is 
a matter for future consideration. 

§ 5. Is THERE AXY Art OF CoxDUCT ? — We may, how- 
ever, proceed further, and ask whether it is strictly 
legitimate to speak of an Art of Conduct at all. A 
little consideration suffices to show that such a con- 
ception is in the highest degree questionable. No 
doubt the term Art may be used in somewhat different 
senses. The Industrial Arts are not quite of the same 
nature as the Fine Arts. The former are directed to 
the production of objects useful for some ulterior end ; 
whereas the objects produced by the latter are rather 
ends in themselves. But in both cases there is a defi- 
nite product which it is the object of the Art to bring 
forth. Now in the case of morality, at least on a 
prima facie view, this is not true. There is no product 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. 1. 



in this case, but only an activity. Of course it may 
be said that the activity is valued v^^ith reference to a 
certain ultimate end, /. e. to the summum bonum. Hov^ 
far this is true, we shall have to consider in the course 
of our study ; but it would, at any rate, be mislead- 
ing at the outset to think of conduct as being of the 
same nature as the Arts, whether Industrial or Ex- 
pressive. It may be convenient to sum up the dif- 
ferences in the following way. 

(i) Virtue exists only in activity. — A good painter is 
one who can paint beautifully : a good man is not one 
who can, but one who does, act rightly. The good 
painter is good when he is asleep or on a journey, or 
when, for any other reason, he is not employed in his 
art.' The good man is not good when asleep or on a 
journey, unless when it is good to sleep or to go on a 
journey. Goodness is not a capacity or potentiality, 
but an activity ; in Aristotelian language, it is not a 
dwa!xi<;, but an hipyeia. 

This is a simple point, and yet it is a point that pre- 
sented great difficulty to ancient philosophers. By 
nothing perhaps were they so much misled as by 

1 Cf. Aristotle's Ethics, I. viii. g. Of course, we judge the goodness 
of a painter by the work that he does ; but the point is that he may 
cease to act without ceasing to be a skilled artist. A good painter 
may decide to paint no more ; but a good man cannot decide to re- 
tire from the life of virtuous activity, or even to take a rest from it. 
There are no holidays from virtue. Charles Lamb, indeed, has 
suggested that a leading element in the enjoyment of certain forms 
of Comedy consists in the fact that they free us from the burden of 
our habitual moral consciousness. This may be true ; but if any 
one were to seek for a holiday by actually practising the modes of 
life depicted in these Comedies, he would, so far, have ceased to be 
virtuous. 



§5-] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



15 



the analogy of virtue to the arts.' Thus m Plato's 
Republic, Socrates is represented as arguing that if 
justice consists in keeping property safe, the just man 
must be a kind of thief ; for the same kind of skill which 
enables a man to defend property, will also enable him 
to steal it. ^ The answer to this is, that justice is not a 
kind of skill, but a kind of activity. The just man is 
not merely one who can, but one who does, keep pro- 
perty safe. Now though the capacity of preserving 
property may be identical with the capacity of appro- 
priating it, the act of preserving is certainly very dif- 
ferent from the act of appropriating. The man who 
knows precisely what the truth about any matter is, 
would undoubtedly, as a general rule, be the most 
competent person to invent lies with respect to the 
same matter. Yet the truth-speaker and the liar are 
very different persons ; because they are not merely 
men who possess particular kinds of capacity, but men 
who act in particular ways. Often, indeed, the most 
atrocious liars have no special capacity for the art. 
And so also it is with other vices. ''The Devil,'' it is 
said, '' is an Ass." 

(2) TJie Essence of Virtue lies in the Will. — The man 
who is a bungler in any of the particular arts may be 
a very worthy and well-meaning person ; but the best 
intentions in the world will not make him a good 
artist. In the case of virtuous action, on the other 
hand, as Kant says,3 a good will is good not because 

1 This does not apply to Aristotle. See the passage referred to in 
the preceding note. 

2 Of course, Plato intended this for a joke ; but it is doubtful whether 
he knew exactly where the fallacy comes in. 

3 Metaphysic of Morals, I. . . 



i6 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. 1. 



of what it performs or effects, not by its aptness for 
the attainment of some proposed end, but simply by 
virtue of the volition/' Even if it should happen 
that, owing to a special disfavour of fortune, or the 
niggardly provision of a step-motherly nature, this will 
should wholly lack power to accomplish its purpose, 
if with its greatest efforts it should yet achieve nothing, 
and there should remain only the good will (not, to be 
sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in 
our power), then, like a jewel, it would still shine by 
its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in 
itself." In like manner, Aristotle says ^ of a good man 
living in circumstances in which he cannot find scope 
for his highest virtues, biaXdix-ti to xalov^ '^his nobility 
shines through." It is true that even in the fine arts 
purpose counts for something ; and a stammering 
utterance may be not without a grace of its own.^ In 
conduct also, if a man blunders entirely, we generally 
assume that there was some flaw in his purpose — 
that he did not reflect sufficiently, or did not will the 
good with sufficient intensity. Still, the distinction 
remains, that in art the ultimate appeal is to the work 
achieved, whereas in morals the ultimate appeal is to 
the inner aim. Or rather, in morals the achievement 

1 Ethics, I. X. 12. 

2 Cf. Browning's Andrea del Sarto : — 

" That arm is wrongly put— and there again — 
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, 
Its body, so to speak : its soul is right, 
He means right— that, a child may understand." 
But here Art is being judged almost from an ethical, rather than 
from a purely assthetical point of view. *' He means right," is not an 
aesthetical judgment, (though, of course, the distinction between 
* body ' and ' soul '— i. e. technique and expression — does belong to 
^Esthetics). 



6.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



17 



cannot be distinguished from the inner activity by 
which it is brought about.' 

§ 6. Is THERE ANY SciENCE OF CoNDUCT ? The fact 

that it is somewhat questionable to speak of an Art of 
Conduct suggests a doubt whether it is even quite 
proper to speak of a Science of Conduct. We generally 
understand by a science the study of some limited 
portion of our experience. Now in dealing with morals 
we are concerned rather with the whole of our ex- 
perience from one particular point of view, viz., from 
the point of view of activity — e. from the point of 
view of the pursuit of ends or ideals. Matthew Arnold 
has said that ''Conduct is three-fourths of life;'' but 
of course, from the point of view of purposive activity, 
conduct is the whole of life. It is common to dis- 
tinguish the pursuit of truth (science) and the pursuit 
of beauty (fine art) from the moral life in the narrower 
sense ; but when truth and beauty are regarded as 
ends to be attained, the pursuit of them is a kind of 
conduct ; and the consideration of these ends, as of 
all others, falls within the scope of the science of 
morals. In a sense, therefore. Ethics is not a science 
at all, if by a science we understand the study of some 
limited department of human experience. It is rather 
a part of philosophy, i e. a part of the study of ex- 
perience as a whole. It is, indeed, only a pari of 
philosophy ; because it considers the experience of life 
only from the point of view of will or activity. It 
does not, except indirectly, consider man as knowing 
or enjoying, but as doing, i. e, pursuing an end. 
But it considers man's whole activity, the entire nature 

1 This point is more fully brought out in Book I., chap. vi. 
2 



i8 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I. 



of the good which he seeks, and the whole significance 
of his activity in seeking it. For this reason some 
writers prefer to describe the subject as Moral Philoso- 
phy or Ethical Philosophy, rather than as the Science 
of Ethics. For it is the business of Philosophy, rather 
than of Science, to deal with experience as a whole. 
Similarly, Logic and Esthetics, the two sciences which 
most closely resemble Ethics, are rather philosophical 
than scientific. But the term Science may be used in 
a wide sense to include the philosophical studies as 
well as those that are called scientific in the narrower 
sense. In the next chapter we must endeavour to 
explain more definitely the place of Ethics among the 
other departments of knowledge. 

§7. Summary. — The statements in this chapter are 
intended to give a general indication of the nature of 
ethical science. The student ought to be warned, 
however, that different writers regard the subject in 
different w^ays. Some regard it as having a directly 
practical aim, while others endeavour to treat it as a 
purely theoretical science, in the same sense in which 
chemistry or astronomy is purely theoretical. I have 
adopted a middle course, by describing it as normative. 
But the full significance of this difference, as well as 
the grounds for adopting one or other of these views, 
can hardly become apparent to the student until he has 
learned to appreciate the distinction between the lead- 
ing theories of the moral standard. In fact, in studying 
Ethics, as in studying most other subjects of any com- 
plexity, it should always be borne in mind that the defi- 
nition of the subject and the understanding of its scope 
and method come rather at the end than at the begin- 
ning. With these cautions, how^ever, the student may 



§7.] 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



19 



perhaps find the remarks made in this chapter of some 
service as an introduction to the study. 

The main points may be summed up in this way : — 

(1) Ethics is the science which deals with the Ideal, 
or with the Standard of Rightness and Wrongness, Good 
and Evil, involved in Conduct. 

(2) This science is normative, not one of the ordinary 
Positive Sciences. 

(3) It is, however, not properly to be described as a 
Practical Science, though it has a close bearing upon 
practical life. 

(4) Still less is it to be described as an Art. 

(5) It is hardly correct to speak of an Art of Conduct 
at all. 

(6) Some objection may also be taken even to the 
term Science of Conduct, since the study of the Ideal 
in Conduct is rather philosophical than scientific. 



20 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I. 



Note on Positive and Normative Sciences. 

It may be well to warn the student, more fully than could v^rell be 
done in the text, that the convenient distinction, here adopted, be- 
tween positive and normative sciences, is not to be taken as an ab- 
solute one ; still less, as exhaustive. On reflection, the student will 
no doubt find that many sciences which are essentially positive have 
i:i them elements that are of a normative character. In illustration 
of this, we might refer to the saying of the astronomer, who was 
questioned about the way in which the planets move : " I know 
noihing about the way in which the planets move ; I only know 
how the planets ought to move— if there are any planets ! " This is, 
of course, a paradox ; but it may serve to bring out the truth that 
much of what is contained even in the positive sciences depends 
on the consideration of ideal standards. Again, the student who 
pursues the study of metaphysics will soon find that there is a 
sense in which even such principles as the law of causation may be 
said, as Kant put it, to be prescribed to nature. Further, there is a 
sense in which even purely normative sciences may be said to deal 
with what is. Logic is said to be concerned with correct thinking ; 
but there is a very true sense in which it may be held that incorrect 
thinking is not thought ; so that, from this point of view. Logic may 
be said to be concerned with the principles of thought as thought 
Similarly, it might perhaps be urged that an object which is not ap- 
preciated as beautiful is not really appreciated ; and that an action 
which is not good is not, in the full sense of the word, an action. 
Hsnce, the distinction between positive and normative sciences is 
one that may require, to a large extent, to be thrown aside as the 
student advances. It is one of those convenient distinctions (like 
that between sense and thought, knowing and willing, matter and 
spirit, etc.) w^hich require to be drawn at the outset, but which may 
be gradually superseded. It remains true, however, that the ordi- 
nary concrete sciences, like botany or physiology,i make it their main 
aim to co-ordinate particular facts of experience, while logic and 
ethics deal essentially with standards of judgment. It would ob- 
viously be far beyond the scope of such a work as this to attempt any 

1 In the case of physiology, this statement is open to some qualifi- 
cation, in so far as physiology makes it its business to study the 
normal action of vital functions. 



THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 



21 



exhaustive classification of the sciences ; but perhaps the following 
list may serve, roughly, to indicate the relations in which they 
stand to one another. 

(1) The ordinary concrete sciences, e.g. botany, biology, anatomy, 
geology, &c. Of these it is on the whole true to say that they deal 
wnth particular classes of facts, and try to co-ordinate them. 

(2) The ordinary abstract sciences, such as mathematics, mechan- 
ics, the more theoretical parts of astronomy, &c. These sciences also 
aim at the elucidation of facts ; but, in order to elucidate them, they 
make use of hypothetical constructions, often involving a reference 
to ideal standards— as, in mathematics, the standard of a perfectly 
straight line, and the like.i 

(3) The normative sciences, such as logic, aesthetics, ethics, which 
deal definitely rather with standards of judgment than with parti- 
cular facts. 

(4) The practical sciences, such as medicine, architecture, rhetoric, 
&c., which apply standards of judgment to the formulation of prin- 
ciples of action. All normative sciences are capable of being made 
practical when they are thus applied. 

Arts, properly so called, seek to carry out certain forms of activity 
for the production of certain results. They depend on the principles 
laid down by the practical sciences, but generally depend on more 
than one of them. 

It should also be carefully borne in mind that often what is com- 
monly regarded as a single science may include elements which, if 
taken by themselves, would refer it alternately to several, or perhaps 
all, of the above classes. Thus Political Economy is a positive 
science in so far as it deals with the facts of commercial life, and 
seeks to co-ordinate them — in so far, that is to say, as it is dealt with 
historically and concretely. It is, however, an abstract science, in 
so far as it deals with h\'pothetical conditions, such as that of perfectly 
free competition, and seeks to show what would follow from these con- 
ditions. It is a normative science, in so far as it seeks to establish an 

1 It may perhaps be of some assistance to the student to point out 
that the names of the more purely positive sciences generally end 
in "logy" — geology, biology, anthropology, psychology, sociology, 
&c. ; while those of the more abstract and normative (/. e. those 
that are, in some sense, concerned with standards or ideals) generally 
end in "ic" or "ics" — mathematics, mechanics, logic, aesthetics, 
ethics, &c. But this is only roughly true. Cf. Giddings's Fvinciples 
oj Sociology y p. 50. 



22 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I. 



ideal standard, such as that of industrial freedom, to which the facts 
of the commercial life ought to conform. It is a practical science 
when it uses this standard to guide the statesman, the man of busi- 
ness, the workman, or the social reformer. When, finally, these 
various people make use of it, under the guidance of common sense, 
it becomes an art ; and the carrying of it into effect in this way in- 
volves various other forms of knowledge, as well as the knowledge 
of the particular science in question.! 

It thus appears that sciences cannot be quite so simply arranged as 
the student might perhaps be led to suppose from the statements in 
the text. The broad distinction, however, between the positive and 
the normative — between that in which the ultimate reference is to a 
particular class of facts, and that in which the ultimate reference is 
to an ideal standard, is all that is of special importance for our pres- 
ent purpose. If the student will bear in mind the two sciences with 
which, from his. previous study, he is probably most likely to be 
familiar, Psychology and Logic, he will find in them two very per- 
fect types of the distinction in question. Psychology deals with the 
facts of consciousness ; Logic deals with the standard of correctness. 



1 Cf. Keynes's Scope and Method of Political Economy^ pp. 34-36. 



RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 



23 



CHAPTER XL 

THE RELATION OF ETHICS TO OTHER SCIENCES. 

§ 1. General Statement. — From what has already- 
been stated, it appears that Ethics is to be regarded as 
belonging to the group of sciences that are called 
philosophic. Now the question as to the general 
nature and divisions of philosophic study is to some 
extent controversial ; and of course it is beyond our 
present scope to enter on any discussion of this 
question ; but perhaps the student may find the follow- 
ing statements helpful and not very misleading. He 
may correct them for himself, if necessary, as he ad- 
vances in the study of philosophy. 

Philosophy is the study of the nature of experience as 
a whole. The particular sciences investigate particular 
portions of the content of our experience ; but philo- 
sophy seeks to understand the whole in the light of its 
central principles. In order to do this, it endeavours to 
analyze the various elements that enter into the con- 
stitution of the world as we know it. This part of the 
investigation is perhaps that which is most properly 
described as Epistemology. Next we may go on to 
trace the genesis of the various elements that constitute 
our experience — to examine, that is to say, the process 
by which experience grows up in the consciousness of 
individuals and races. This is the task of Psychology. 
Now, when we thus examine our experience and trace 



24 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. 11. 



its growth, it IS found that the content which is thus 
brought to light consists partly of facts presented in 
various ways before our consciousness and partly of 
ideals. The study of the particular facts that come 
before our consciousness has to be handed over to the 
particular sciences ; or, in so far as philosophy is able to 
deal with them, they form the content of what is called 
the Philosophy of Nature. The ideals, again, w^hich 
emerge in our experience, are found to be three in 
number, corresponding, it would seem, to the Know- 
ing, the Feeling, and the Willing sides of our conscious 
nature. They are the ideals of Truth, Beauty, and 
Goodness. The study of these ideals forms the subject- 
matter of the three sciences of Logic, Esthetics, and 
Ethics. Finally the question arises with respect to the 
kind and degree of reality possessed by these various 
elements in our experience. This inquiry is that which 
is properly known as Ontology. The first and the last 
of these departments of study — Epistemology and Onto- 
logy — tend to coalesce ; and the two together con- 
stitute what is commonly known as Metaphysics, which 
thus forms the Alpha and the Omega of the philoso- 
phical sciences. 

From this it will be seen that Ethics stands, along 
with Logic and ^Esthetics, midway between Psycho- 
logy and Metaphysics ; and, in fact, whatever may be 
thought of the foregoing method of stating the relation- 
ship, it is generally recognized that there is a very close 
connection between Ethics and each of these two other 
philosophical sciences. 

Further consideration, however, reveals a variety of 
other subjects to w^hich Ethics is closely related. On 
some it is dependent for materials, to others it supplies 



2.] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 



25 



assistance. It may be well to try to bring out a little 
more in detail some of these relationships, though of 
course it is only possible to indicate them here very 
briefly. 

§ 2. Physical Science and Ethics. — The relation of 
Physical Science to Ethics is but slight. It has some- 
times been supposed that the question of physical 
causation has an important bearing on Ethics. It has 
been thought that morality postulates the freedom of 
the will, and that there is a certain conflict between 
this postulate and the theory of the universal applica- 
bility of the law of cause and effect. This point will 
be referred to in a subsequent chapter. In the mean- 
time it must suffice to say that the supposition of such 
a conflict appears to rest upon a misconception. 

Of course, Ethics is indirectly related to Physical 
Science, inasmuch as a knowledge of physical laws 
enables us to predict, more accurately and certainly 
than we should otherwise be able to do, what the effect 
of various kinds of conduct will be. But this knowl- 
edge affects only the details of conduct, not the general 
principles by which our conduct is guided. A wise 
man in modern times will be less afraid of the sea and 
of the stars, and more afraid of foul air and impure 
water, than a man of similar wisdom in ancient times ; 
but the general consideration of the question, what 
kinds of things we ought to fear, and what kinds we 
ought not to fear, need not be affected by this differ- 
ence in detail, which is due to the advance of know- 
ledge. Physical Science in short is chiefly useful to 
Ethics in the way of helping us to understand the 
environment within which the moral life is passed, 
rather than the nature of the moral life itself. 



26 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II. 



§ 3, Biology and Ethics. — The relation of Biology to 
Ethics is much closer than that of Physics or Chemistry, 
but is essentially of the same indirect character. -Many 
of the most sacred of human obligations rest on physi- 
ological considerations ; but the general principles on 
which these obligations rest can be discussed without 
any direct reference to physiological details, and would 
not, in their general principles, be affected by any new 
physiological discoveries. 

Some recent writers, under the influence of the theory 
of evolution,^ have represented the connection of 
Biology with Ethics as being of a much more fund- 
amental character than that which has now been in- 
dicated. It has been thoui^ht that the criterion of rood 
or bad conduct is to be found in the tendency to pro- 
mote the development of life or the reverse ; and that, 
consequently, we may speak of good or bad conduct 
in the lowest forms of life in quite the same sense as 
in man. This is a view to which some reference will 
have to be made at a later stage. In the meantime it 
seems sufficient to say that conduct, in the sense in 
which the term is used in Ethics, has no meaning ex- 
cept with reference to a being who has a rational will ; 
and that, in the case of such a being, the development 
of life is but a subordinate part of the end. Conse- 
quently, Biology does not appear to have any direct 
bearing upon Ethics.^ The study of animal life, how- 
ever, does throw a good deal of light on the develop- 
ment of the moral consciousness ; but it does this only 

1 See especially Spencer's Principles of Ethics. 

2 It is only in so far as we attribute some form of self-conscious- 
ness to the lower animals that we are entitled to speak of " sub- 
human" Ethics. Cf. M\\\v\\Q3.d!^ Elements of Ethics, p. 2X2, note, and 
see below, Book I,, chap, iii., § 3. 



§4.] 



RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 2/ 



in so far as animal life is studied from the psychological, 
not from the purely biological, point of view. 

§ 4. Psychology and Ethics. — The relation of Psy- 
chology to Ethics is much closer and more important. 
At the same time, the dependence of the one upon the 
other ought not to be exaggerated. As Logic deals 
with the correctness of thought, so Ethics deals with 
the correctness of conduct. Neither of them is directly 
concerned with the process by which we come to think 
or to act correctly. Still, the processes of feeling, de- 
siring, and willing cannot be ignored by the student 
of Ethics ; any more than the processes of general- 
izing, judging, and reasoning can be ignored by the 
student of Logic ; and the consideration of all these 
falls within the province of the psychologist. Psycho- 
logy, in fact, as I have already tried to indicate, leads 
up to ethics, as it leads up to Logic and Esthetics. 

In this connection, however, there is another im- 
portant point to be noticed, to which reference has not 
yet been made. Human conduct, as we shall find 
more and more, has a social reference. Most of our 
actions derive their moral significance very largely from 
our relations to our fellow-men. Now Psychology, as 
commonly studied, has but little bearing on this. Psy- 
chology, as a rule, deals mainly with the growth of the 
individual consciousness, and only refers indirectly to 
the facts of social relationship. It is possible, how- 
ever, to study the process of mental development from 
a more social point of view. The study of language, 
for instance, the study of the customs of savage peoples, 
the study of the growth of institutions, etc., throw 
light upon the gradual development of the human 
mind in relation to its social environment. The term 



28 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II. 

Sociology has been used to denote, in a comprehensive 
way, the study of such social phenomena ; and, from 
the point of view of Ethics, this study of the facts of 
mind in relation to society has a more direct interest 
than purely individual Psychology. 

§ 5. Logic, ^Esthetics, and Ethics. — These three 
sciences, as I have already pointed out, are essen- 
tially cognate. They are all normative, not positive : 
they are concerned, that is to say, not with the inves- 
tigation of facts and relations between facts, but with 
the discussion of standards. Logic studies the standard 
of Truth. It is concerned with the validity of various 
processes of thought. Esthetics and Ethics, again, may 
be said to be concerned with value or worth. Esthetics 
considers the standard of Beauty, or as we may perhaps 
say, worth for feeling. Ethics considers the standard 
of goodness, i, e, value or worth from the point of 
view of action — valour, as we might put it. Validity, 
Value, Valour, might almost be said to be the subjects of 
the three sciences ; but this of course is something of a 
play on words. At any rate they are very closely re- 
lated to one other. Ethics might almost be described 
as the Logic of conduct — i. e. it considers the condi- 
tions of the consistency of conduct with the ideal ' in- 

1 As we have had frequent occasion to use this term Ideal, and 
shall have to use it frequently in the sequel, it may be well to enter 
a caution at this point against a misconception to which it is liable. 
An Ideal means a type, model, or standard ; and that which is ideal 
is that which is normal, that which conforms to its type or standard. 
The adjective " ideal," however, corresponds to the two nouns 
" Idea " and " Ideal," and there is a certain ambiguity in its use. As 
corresponding to "idea " (in the sense made current in English by 
Locke, Berkeley and Hume) it is apt to be understood as referring to 
that which is merely fancied, as distinguished from that which 
exists in fact, (The more correct philosophical use, in this sense, is 



5-] RELATION OF OTHER SCIENCES. 



29 



volved in it, just as Logic considers the conditions of 
the consistency of thought with the standards that it 
implies. Again, the study of the Good is also closely 
related to the study of the Beautiful. Indeed, so close 
is the connection between the two conceptions that 
the Greeks used the same word, to xaXo'^^ indifferently 
to express beauty and moral nobility. The phrase 
''beauty of holiness " also occurs in Hebrew literature ; 
and in modern times we sometimes meet with such 
expressions as '' beautiful soul,'' ''a beautiful life," and 
the like — though these expressions generally refer 
rather to religious piety than to purely moral excellence, 
and even in that reference strike us perhaps as savour- 
seen in such phrases as " ideal content," " ideal construction," "ideal 
synthesis," and the like.) Thus, when B^Ton speaks of " ideal woe" 
he means imaginary woe, woe of which the ground is purely fanciful. 
And indeed this meaning clings even to the noun " Ideal," and to 
"ideal" as an adjective corresponding to that noun. An artist's 
Ideal is apt to be understood as meaning a type of beauty which is 
nowhere to be found existing. The ideal, in fact, comes to be un- 
derstood in the sense of a poetic vision, 

" The light that never was on sea or land, 
The consecration and the poet's dream." 

In this sense also an Ideal state, like Plato's Republic, is contrasted 
with actually existing conditions. Now this use of the word is apt 
to be very misleading in Ethics. In order to avoid such confusion 
it is well for the student to think of the moral Ideal, not in relation 
to Ideal States or the artist's Ideal, but rather in relation to the 
logical Ideal. The Ideal of correct thinking is not something in the 
air, but is something that is realized every time we think at all ; for 
to think wrongly is to a certain extent not to think. Similarly the 
moral ideal may be said to be realized every time we truly act. It 
is important that w^e should get rid of the habit of thinking of the 
Ideal as something " too good to be true," and learn to think of it 
rather as the determining principle in reality. (See Hegel's Logic^ 
Wallace's Translation, p. 11.) The point of this may become more 
apparent in the sequel. 



30 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II. 



ing a little of cant. I have already indicated that the 
Greek philosophers got into some trouble through their 
failure to distinguish clearly between moral conduct 
and art ; and the sharper separation in modern times 
between the two conceptions marks an advance in 
scientific clearness. When the moral life is regarded 
as beautiful, it is looked at from a somewhat external 
point of view, as if it were a result rather than an act 
of will ; and it was no doubt partly because the Greeks 
had not fully reached the inner point of view (for which 
we are largely indebted to Christianity) that they were 
tempted to regard the moral life as if it were simply an 
artistic product. When we regard morality as involv- 
ing a struggle of the will, it can scarcely impress us as 
beautiful. In the religious sense also, when we speak 
of the beauty of holiness, beautiful souls, and beauti- 
ful lives, we are generally thinking of the persons re- 
ferred to as if they ''flourished'' rather than lived, as 
if they were passive products rather than active pro- 
ducers. Still, it cannot be denied that the contempla- 
tion of a life of eminent virtue yields us a certain 
aesthetic satisfaction ; and from certain points of view 
it is tempting, even for a modern writer, to regard 
virtue as a kind of beauty. The consideration of the 
relation between the Good and the Beautiful is, how- 
ever, too difficult a subject to be taken up at this point ; 
and we must, at any rate, reserve the discussion of it 
for the present. 

§ 6. Metaphysics and Ethics. — The consideration of 
validity and value leads inevitably to tho problem of 
reality. In the case of thought we may be satisfied 
for a time with the mere consideration of its formal 
self-consistency. But this is soon foun4 to be unsatis- 



§ /.] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENXES. 



31 



factory ; and we pass on, as in what is called Inductive 
Logic, to the question of the conditions of the consist- 
ency of thought with the facts of nature. This again 
leads us on to the discussion of the ultimate nature of 
reality. Similarly, in dealing with the Beautiful, we 
may at first be content to regard it as the pleasant ; but 
we are soon led to inquire how far the pleasantness 
of objects is illusory and how far it rests upon their 
essential nature. Thus in both these cases we are led 
on into metaphysical inquiries. So it is in the case of 
Ethics. When we ask what constitutes the value or 
active worth of human life we are soon led into the 
question of the essential nature of human personality 
and its place in the universe of actual existence. It is 
possible, no doubt, to proceed a certain length in Logic, 
^Esthetics, and Ethics without insisting upon an answer 
to the ultimate problems of ontology ; but they all lead 
us on inevitably into these problems. 

§ 7. Ethics and Political Philosophy. — So far we 
have been referring to the sciences upon which Ethics 
may be said to rest. We have now to notice depart- 
ments of study which rest upon Ethics. These may 
all be brought under the general heading of political or 
social Philosophy. As I have already remarked, the 
study of conduct leads us inevitably into the study 
of social life. An entirely solitary human being is in- 
conceivable. A man is always a member of some 
kind of community. As Aristotle said, he is a poli- 
tical animal {jzoh-v/jy^ fwov). Hence the science of 
Ethics is very closely related to that of Politics. We 
cannot well consider the virtues of the individual with- 
out considering also the society to which he is related, 
and the ways in which it may help or hinder the devel- 



32 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II. 



opment of his life. The ideal also which we lay down 
for the individual will necessarily suggest an ideal 
arrangement of society, which will be best fitted to 
enable the individual to realize his highest aims. For 
this reason, Aristotle even went so far as to say that 
Ethics is essentially a part of PoUtics. If we accept 
this statement, however, we must employ the term 
Politics in a very wide sense. In this wide sense it is 
perhaps better to use the term Social Philosophy. But 
even in the narrower sense of the term, it is evident 
that the relation of Ethics to Politics must be a very 
intimate one.' 

§ 8. Ethics and Economics. — Among the departments 
of Political Philosophy to which Ethics is thus closely 
related there is one to which great importance has been 
attached in recent times — the science of Political Econ- 
omy. Economics, like Ethics, is concerned wiihgoods, 
i. e. with things having value with reference to certain 
human ends. But while the goods with which Ethics 
deals are those acts which are the conditions of the 
attainment of the highest end of life, economic goods 
are merely those objects which are the means of sat- 
isfying any human want. It follows that if we are 
really to understand the worth of economic goods, we 
must consider them in close relation to the ethical 
good. Food, for instance, clothing, house room, and 
the like, are economic goods ; and they serve a variety 
of purposes — the support of life, the development of 
life, the prolongation of life, the promotion of enjoy- 
ment, the attainment of independence, the furtherance 
of peace, decency, and security, and so on. And the 

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics^ p. 40 sqq., and see below. 
Book III., chaps, i. and ii. 



§9.] 



RELATION TO OTHER SCIE^XES. 



33 



worth of the goods will depend on the importance of 
these ends. Now the importance of these ends can 
be ascertained only by observing their rehition to the 
supreme end of ourhves. Hence a certain knowledge 
of Ethics is presupposed in the intelligent study of 
Economics. This truth has frequently been overlooked. 
The study of Economics has too often been conducted 
in such a way as to suggest that Wealth is an end in 
itself; and this has had the practical result of retarding 
social reforms, and encouraging those who are already 
too much prepared to pursue riches at any price. For 
this reason some of the leading w^riters on Political 
Economy have been severely criticised by Carlyle and 
Ruskin and other moralists ; and it is now generally 
recognized that the two sciences of Ethics and Econo- 
mics must be brought into closer relationship to one 
another, at least if Economics is to be treated as, in 
any degree, normative and practical. ' 

§ 9. Ethics and P^edagogics. — Ethics ought also to 
throw an important light on the science of Education. 
The reader has probably already discovered, from his 
previous course of philosophic study, that the science 
of psychology has a good deal to say that bears on 
Education. Psychology, however, is chiefly con- 
cerned with the various capacities of the human mind 
and the method of their development. The light 
which it throws on mental Education is similar to that 
which is thrown by physiology on physical Education. 
The question as to what qualities it is most desirable 

lOn this subject, cf. Keynes's Scope and Method of Political Econ- 
omy, chap. ii. For a more extreme view, see Devas's Political 
Economy, Book IV., chap. v. Cf. International Journal of Ethics, 
Vol. III., no. 3, and Vol. VII., no. 2. 

Eth. 5 



34 



ETHICS, [INTROD., CH. II. 



to evoke and strengthen must obviously depend on 
our view of the qualities which the good citizen ought 
to possess, and generally on our view of the nature of 
the ethical end. ' 

§ 10. Concluding Remark. — These notes on the 
relationship between Ethics and other sciences are 
necessarily somewhat fragmentary, and perhaps the 
student may not find them very enlightening, especi- 
ally at the beginning of his course. They may serve, 
however, to indicate the wider bearings of the science, 
and to prepare the way for the consideration of the 
divisions into which the study of it naturally falls. 
Possibly also if the student will return upon this 
chapter, after having gone through the body of the 
treatise, he may then be better able to appreciate the 
points to which reference has here been made. 

1 Mrs. Bryant has written a valuable book on Educational Ends 
which brings out with considerable fulness the bearing of ethical 
considerations on the subject of Education. Similarly, Milton's 
Tractate on Education is written throughout with reference to an 
ethical ideal. Cf. also Bacon's Be AugmenttSy Book VII. and many 
other works of a similar character. 



§ I.] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 35 



CHAPTER III. 

THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 

§ 1. General Remarks. — If we adhered quite rigidly 
to the view of Ethics put forward in the first chapter, 
it would hardly be necessary to introduce any divisions 
in the treatment of it. It would all be concerned with 
the definition of the moral ideal, the analysis of what 
is involved in it, and the consideration of its validity ; 
and this would practically be but a single inquiry. 
But it is hardly possible to limit the subject in this 
rigid way. There are a number of considerations 
which, on a strict view, might be held not properly 
to belong to Ethics, but which are so essential to the 
understanding of it that it is hardly possible to omit 
them from any book dealing comprehensively with the 
subject. The nature of these outlying considerations 
has been partly indicated in the foregoing chapter ; 
but we have now to notice more precisely the way in 
which they tend to break up the study of Ethics into 
different departments. 

In the first place, it is necessary to give some atten- 
tion to the psychological aspects of the subject. The 
consideration of the nature of Feeling, Desire, Will, of 
the meaning and place of Motives and Intentions in 
the individual consciousness, of the origin and nature 
of conscience, of the elements contained in the moral 



36 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. III. 



judgment, and other problems of a similar character, 
is an almost indispensable preliminary to the study of 
the moral ideal. Again, the treatment of these psycho- 
logical questions naturally leads us on to the more 
sociological aspects of the subject, u e. to the study of 
the way in which the moral consciousness grows up 
in mankind in relation to the general development of 
civilization in its various aspects. These genetical in- 
quiries lead us on to the consideration of the nature 
and significance of the moral ideal. But even the treat- 
ment of this is necessarily to some extent historical. 
It is hardly possible, at the present stage of the develop- 
ment of ethical study, to lay down the one view that 
is to be accepted as correct, without reference to the 
various more or less incorrect opinions that have been 
current in the course of ethical speculation. Having 
considered these and formed our view as to the 
general nature of the doctrine that is to be taken as 
true, we are then able, finally, to consider the applica- 
tion of this doctrine to the treatment of the concrete 
facts of the moral life. In this way there are at least 
four main divisions of the study : — (i) The Psycho- 
logy of the Moral Consciousness, (2) The Sociology 
of the Moral Life, (3) The Theories of the Moral 
Standard, (4) The Application of the Standard to the 
treatment of the Moral Life. A part dealing with the 
Metaphysics of Ethics might also be added ; but this 
could hardly be separated from the discussion of the 
Theories of the Moral Standard, which, as we shall see, 
inevitably leads us into metaphysical considerations. 

A few remarks may now be made on each of these 
divisions of the subject. 

§ 2. The Psychological Aspects of Ethics. — Most 



§ 3-] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 



37 



of the points that fall under this head are discussed in 
treatises on Psychology, where they are more strictly 
in place. But it is found convenient in ethical works 
to recall some of the more important considerations on 
the subject of Desire and Will, in particular, and also 
to deal with the nature of conscience and the moral 
judgment, which are apt to be passed over somewhat 
slightly in purely psychological discussions. The 
bearing of such questions as that of the freedom of the 
Will on the moral judgment has also to be considered ; 
and, though this is partly a metaphysical question, yet 
it is on the whole the psychological aspect of it that 
more directly concerns Ethics. It is, however, the 
more social aspects of Psychology with which Ethics 
is most intimately connected, and we are thus led to 
the second division of the subject. 

§ 3. The Sociological Aspects of Ethics. — The sci- 
ence of Sociology is still in its infancy, and it is perhaps 
premature to state precisely what it would contain ; 
but we may say of it generally that it is nothing more 
than an extension of psychology to the consideration 
of the more social aspects of life. Such a considera- 
tion has reference to much that has very little bearing 
on Ethics. When we study the life of savage peoples, 
the primitive facts of language, the early religious 
ideas, the superstitious practices, the beginnings of 
law and government, our interest is directed to many 
points that do not much concern the rightness and 
wrongness of conduct. All these things, however, 
are modes of conduct, or tend to affect conduct ; 
and it is possible to study them from this point of view. 
Also the tendency to pass judgment upon these and 
other forms of activity, as being right or wrong, good 



38 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. HI. 



or evil, begins at a very early stage in the development 
of the human race ; and the way in which this judg- 
ment grows up is one of the most interesting points 
in the study of Sociology. All this is hardly to be 
described as Ethics in the stricter sense ; but it is an 
almost indispensable preparation for the study of 
ethical problems. 

§ 4. The Theories of the Moral Standard. — The 
study of Ethics in the stricter sense commences with the 
consideration of the nature of the Ideal, Standard, or 
End, by reference to which Conduct is pronounced to be 
right or wrong, good or evil. Now there are several 
different theories on this subject ; and, though some 
of these theories are now generally admitted to have 
been superseded, yet the leading types of theory can- 
not well be neglected, the more so as these leading 
types are seldom wholly erroneous, but nearly always 
bring out some important aspect of the subject. At 
the same time, the student should be warned against 
the common error of supposing that these controver- 
sies about the definition of the Standard, often rather 
futile and involving a good deal of misunderstanding 
on all sides, constitute the whole, or even the main 
part, of ethical doctrine. In order to guard against 
such a misconception, it is important to pass on to the 
consideration of the way in which ethical principles 
may be used in the treatment of the concrete moral 
life, even if the discussion of this subject is inevitably 
of a very summary and incomplete character. 

§ 5. The Concrete Moral Life. — It will be found 
that the exact way in which the concrete moral life is 
to be handled by ethical science depends to a consider- 
able extent on the nature of the theory which we finally 



§ 5-] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 



39 



adopt. If, for instance, we were to take the view that 
the moral standard consists in certain absolute and 
immutable laws which are intuitively known to every 
developed consciousness, the study of the concrete 
moral life could have little more than a historical 
interest. We should only be able to discover that at 
certain periods the nature of the moral laws has been 
obscured, for various reasons, from the consciousness 
of the majority of the human race ; and that at other 
times the laws, though fully recognized, have been 
very commonly disobeyed. These facts would be of 
sociological and psychological, rather than of strictly 
ethical interest. On the other hand, if we should be 
led to take the view that the moral standard consists 
in a certain end — say, happiness — which, though gen- 
erally pursued by mankind, is not pursued consist- 
ently or wisely, it would then be possible to point out, 
at least in general terms, the ways in which improve- 
ments could be introduced into the concrete moral life 
of mankind. Rules could be laid down for the more 
complete and consistent adoption of the right means 
to the end that we have in view. Or, again, if we 
accepted the view that the Standard is of the nature of 
an Ideal that is more or less clearly present through- 
out the development of the human consciousness, it 
would then be possible for us to trace the ways in 
which this Ideal comes into clearness, to point out how 
it is illustrated in the concrete growth of the moral 
life, and to indicate to some extent the directions in 
which we may hope to see it more fully realized. 
According to the first of these views, the study of the 
concrete moral life would have hardly any ethical 
interest. According to the second view, the study of 



40 



ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. III. 



Ethics would lead directly to certain practical recom- 
mendations for the remodelling of the concrete moral 
life. According to the third view, it would be the main 
business of Ethics to bring out the significance of the 
moral life in its concrete development, rather than to 
aim at its reform. Accordingly, it is not possible to 
decide on the precise way in which this department of 
the subject should be dealt with, until we have con- 
sidered the nature of the moral Standard. This portion 
of the treatment of Ethics is sometimes called Applied 
Ethics. 

§ 6. Plan of the Present Work. — A complete treatise 
on the Principles of Ethics would thus, as I conceive, 
fall naturally into four distinct parts— with, possibly, 
a fifth devoted to the development of the more meta- 
physical aspects of the subject. The present work, 
however, is only intended to serve the purpose of an 
introductory sketch ; and the divisions which are here 
adopted need not be of quite so elaborate a character. 
As this book is intended primarily to be read by students 
who have already pursued a course in Psychology, the 
psychological aspects of the subject need not be very 
fully developed. As regards the sociological aspects, 
again, the whole science of sociology is in so unde- 
veloped a condition that it would hardly be appropriate 
in an elementary Text-book to make any confident 
assertions about it. In a larger work various points 
might fittingly be discussed which in such a book as 
this are best omitted. Accordingly, all that is to be 
said about these two departments of ethical study is 
here compressed under the general heading of Pro- 
legomena, chiefly Psychological. " The various theories 
of morals must be dealt with somewhat more fully ; 



6.] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 4I 



but here also we must content ourselves with the broad 
distinctions, and leave the more minute historical details 
for future study. In dealing with the concrete moral 
life, we cannot attempt to do much more than indicate 
the main points which it would be important to con- 
sider in a more complete treatise. Finally, the meta- 
physical implications of ethical theory can only be 
referred to in a concluding chapter. 



§!■] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



43 



BOOK L 

PROLEGOMENA, CHIEFLY PSYCHOLOGICAL. 



CHAPTER I. 

DESIRE AND WILL. 

§ 1. Introductory Remark. — The questions that con- 
cern us in this chapter are essentially psychological ; 
and most of the points on which we have to touch 
will be found treated, with more or less fulness, in any 
psychological handbook. But it seems necessary here 
to bring out their ethical significance. What chiefly 
concerns us is the nature of those activities which are 
described by the terms Will, and Conduct, and the 
relation of these to that general condition of conscious 
life which is described as Character. But in order to 
understand these it is necessary also to say something 
about the relationship between Desire and Will ; and it 
is to that point that the present chapter is to be de- 
voted. 

§ 2. General Nature of Desire. — Before we consider 
the way in which our desires are related to the will, it 
is necessary to determine precisely what we are to 
understand by the term desire. We must not, for in- 
stance, confound human desires with the mere appetites 
of an animal ; and there are also several other minor 



44 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



distinctions which it is necessary to keep in view. 
We may say, generally, that nothing is an object of 
desire for a man unless it is consciously regarded as a 
good : but this remark is perhaps not very enlighten- 
ing ; for it would be difficult to define a good otherwise 
than as an object that is consciously desired.^ The 
point is, however, that in all real desire there is some 
object that is consciously taken as an end. Such an 
object consciously taken as an end in desire is what 
we call a good. By defining in this way, we seem to 
be able to avoid going round in a circle. In order to 
understand this point, however, it is necessary to go 
more into the details of the distinction between desire 
and other modes of activity. We may conveniently 
begin with those forms of activity that are lowest in 
the scale of life, and pass upwards from these to the 
highest forms of human desire and will. 

§ 3. Want and Appetite. — We may begin by distin- 
guishing the appetite of an animal from the mere pres- 
ence of an animal want. An animal want is in itself 
of the same nature as a vegetable want. It is a blind 
tendency towards particular ends, which are involved 
in the development of the life of the animal, just as 
they might be also in the life of a plant. We may say, 
if we like, that nature wills ^ the realization of these 
ends; but they are not consciously willed by the 
animal or plant itself. In the case of an appetite, on 
the other hand, there is not merely a blind tendency 
towards a particular end ; but this tendency is to a 

1 C/. Aristotle's Ethics, I. i. i. : " The good is that at which all things 
aim." 

2 This conception is due to Aristotle. It is of course partly meta- 
phorical, but suggests a teleological view of the world. 



3-] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



45 



certain extent present to consciousness. This con- 
sciousness may appear partly in the form of a definite 
presentation of the kind of object that will satisfy 
a given want. The hungry lion may be more or 
less clearly aware of the nature of the object that it 
seeks. The plant, on the other hand, when it turns to 
the sunlight, may be said to have a want ; but it can- 
not be supposed to have any consciousness of the 
nature of the object that will satisfy it. Even in the 
case of an animal appetite, however, the conscious- 
ness of the object is probably in most instances some- 
what dim and vague. ^ The most prominent element in 
the consciousness is rather the feeling of pleasure or 
pain than any definite presentation of an object. An 
unsatisfied appetite is in itself ^ painful ; whereas the 
satisfaction of any appetite brings with it the feeling 
of pleasure. These feelings form so characteristic and 
prominent an element in animal appetites that satis- 
factions of appetite are frequently referred to simply 
as pleasures, while unsatisfied appetites are called 
pains. A pleasure-seeker is generally understood to 
be one who seeks the satisfaction of his animal ap- 
petites, or of human impulses which are akin to these 
appetites. A certain confusion is thus apt to arise 

1 Some psychologists (of whom I gather that Mr. Stout is one) 
would deny that this element is present at all. 

2 It is necessary to say "in itself" ; because the total effect of a 
consciousness of unsatisfied want is sometimes rather pleasurable 
than painful. Thus, moderate hunger in man, and perhaps even in 
animals, seems often to be rather agreeable than otherwise. The 
reason is probably in part that the feeling of hunger adds a pleasant 
stimulus to the vital energies generally, and in part that the antici- 
pation of satisfaction is easily called up by the consciousness of 
want See Note I. at the end of chap. ii. 



46 



ETHICS. 



[bk. I., cn. I. 



between the satisfaction of an appetite and the agree- 
able feeling which accompanies it ; since both are 
called pleasure. But with this confusion we need not 
at present trouble ourselves.^ It is enough now to 
observe that pleasure and pain are the most prominent 
and characteristic features of animal appetite.^ 

§ 4. Appetite and Desire. — In the case of what is 
strictly called desire, there is not merely the conscious- 
ness of an object, with an accompanying feeling of 
pleasure and pain, but also a recognition of the object 
as a good, or as an element in a more or less clearly 
defined end. 3 The hunger of an animal is different 
from the mere w^ant of nutriment in a plant; but de- 
sire for food in a man is scarcely less different from 
mere hunger. A man may be hungry and yet not de- 
sire food. In the desire of food there is involved, in 
addition to the hunger, the representation of the food 
as an end which it is worth while to secure. We may 
express this by saying that desire implies a definite 
point of view, whereas there is no such implication in 
a mere appetite. Hunger is to all intents the same 
phenomenon in the brute and in the sage ; but the de- 
sires of the sage and the hero are very different from 
those of the savage, the miser, or the epicure. The 
desires of different men are determined by the total 
nature of the point of view which the men occupy. 
What they desire depends on what they like ; and what 

1 See below, chap, ii., §§ 7 and 8. 

2 Appetite is, in the Aristotelian psychology, known as eiri.eviJ.ia, 
Desire is ope^i?. But Aristotle uses ope^t? in a wide sense, so as to in- 
clude cTTidvfxia. De Anima, II., iii. 2. 

3 For a full discussion of this point, see Green's Prolegomena to 
Ethics, Book II., chap. ii. Cf. also Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 
51-2, and Dewey's Psychology, p. 360 sqq. 



§5.] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



47 



they like, as Mr. Ruskin is so fond of insisting, is an 
exact expression of what they are. Thus, while ordi- 
nary hunger or thirst tells us nothing about the char- 
acter of him who feels it, the hunger and thirst after 
righteousness, or after power, or after fame, is a reve- 
lation of a whole point of view. ' The desires of a per- 
son, therefore, are not an isolated phenomenon, but 
form an element in the totality, or, as we may say, the 
universe of his character ; ^ and it is from this point of 
view that we must regard them, ifweareto understand 
their full significance. 

§ 5. Universe of Desire. — What is meant by saying 
that the desires of a human being form part of a uni- 
verse " may be made somewhat clearer by reference to 
a similar conception in the science of Logic. It has 
become a familiar thing in Logic to speak of a uni- 
verse of discourse,'' ^ as signifying the sphere of refer- 
ence within which a particular statement is made. 
Thus a statement about " the gods may be true with 
reference to the world as depicted in the Homeric 
poems, or to the world of Greek mythology generally, 
but may be false or meaningless if understood with 
reference to the world of ordinary fact. So too we 
may make statements about griffins and unicorns in 
the universe of heraldry, about fairies in the universe of 
romance, about Hamlet or King Lear in the universe 
of Shakespeare s plays, about Heaven and Hell and Pur- 
gatory in the universe of Dante's Drcine Comedy ; and 
our statements may be true within these several uni- 

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elemets of Ethics, p. 52. 

2 Cf. Dewey's Psychology, pp. 363-4. 

3 See Keynes's Formal Logic, pp. 137-8, Venn's Empirical Logic, p. 
180, Welton's Manual of LogiCy vol. i., pp. 59-60. 



48 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



verses, though they would become false if taken out of 
the particular universe to which they belong. Now 
there is something quite analogous in the case of our 
desires. Each desire also belongs to a particular uni- 
verse, and loses its meaning if we pass out of that 
universe into another. This universe to which a desire 
belongs is the universe that is constituted by the totality 
of what we call a man's character, as that character 
presents itself at the time at which the desire is felt. 
It is, in short, the universe of the man's ethical point of 
view at the moment in question. That there are great 
differences between such universes, is evident from the 
judgments that we habitually pass on the representa- 
tions of human conduct in poems and novels and 
dramas. We are often aware that a desire which is 
attributed to a fictitious personage is not such a desire 
as a man of his general character and situation would 
feel, or at least not such as he would feel in such a 
degree as is attributed to him. It is not such a desire, 
in fact, as belongs to his particular universe. And the 
particular universe which we thus estimate, and which 
varies so widely with the characters of different indi- 
viduals, is not even one that remains constant for the 
same person. We must all be aware of the different 
desires that dominate our minds in different moods, in 
different conditions, in different states of health. These 
differences constitute what we may call a difference of 
universe ; and to each such universe a different set of 
desires, or at least a different arrangement of desires, 
belongs. This universe may even alter suddenly in 
the same individual, through some sudden transforma- 
tion of conditions. It is such a change that is illus- 
trated in the old fable of the cat which was transformed 



5-] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



49 



into a princess, but returned again to its proper shape 
on the sudden appearance of a mouse. The sudden 
change of condition caused her to drop at once from 
the universe of princess to the universe of cat. Of such 
transformations life is rich in instances. There is a 
German proverb that what one wishes in youth one 
has to satiety in age ; but even from year to year and 
from day to day — sometimes even from hour to hour — 
we may find ourselves passing from one universe into 
another, where what we formerly desired becomes 
uninteresting, perhaps even disgusting. Any sudden 
change — the news of the death of a friend, the recollec- 
tion of a promise, the suggestion of a moral principle, 
and the like — may carry us instantaneously from one 
world into another. This is illustrated in Shakespeare's 
play of Loves Labour Lost, where the announcement 
of the death of the King of France brings suddenly to 
a close the wit and levity of the preceding scenes, and 
introduces an entirely different tone. Such a change 
may fairly be referred to as a passage from one uni- 
verse to another. Or again, such a change may be 
illustrated by the common transformation from a man's 
Sunday view of life to that which he takes during the 
rest of the Vv^eek. Even a change of clothes suffices 
with some men to produce a change of universe ; for 
it is not always entirely true that ''the cowl does not 
make the monk. ' 

§ 6. Conflict of Desires. — In the preceding section 
we have assumed, for the sake of simplicity, that at 

1 On the nature of psychological universes the psychology of 
Herbart is particularly instructive. Reference may be made to Mr. 
Stout's Articles in Wind and to the same writer's Analytic Psychology, 
(especially chaps. VIII., IX., and X.) 

Eth. A 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



any given moment an individual occupies a definite 
point of view, or is, so to speak, an inhabitant of a 
single universe. In reality, hov/ever, the content of 
an individuals consciousness is not so simple. There 
are nearly always several points of view present to a 
given individual at a given moment ; or, at any rate, 
several points of view alternate with one another so 
rapidly, that they may practically be regarded as pre- 
sent together. A statesman, for instance, may be in- 
fluenced in his conduct by motives derived from many 
different universes. He may occupy the universe 
which is constituted by the consideration of the good 
of his country ; and from this point of view he may 
strongly desire to see certain measures carried out. 
But at the same time he may be not uninfluenced by 
considerations drawn from very different universes. 
He may occupy also a universe constituted by his own 
personal ambition, by the welfare of his family, by the 
wishes of his constituency, by a view of duty to the 
world (as distinguished from his own country), per- 
haps also by religious considerations. He may occupy 
alternately, and almost simultaneously, all these dif- 
ferent points of view ; and very various desires may 
arise in his mind in consequence. It is probable that 
some of these desires will conflict with others. From 
one point of view he may desire peace, from another 
war : from one point of view he may set his heart on 
liberty, from another on order. It then comes to be a 
question which of these ends the man will finally 
choose. Now it is often said that in such cases a man 
will naturally, or even necessarily, be influenced by 
the strongest desire or motive. But it must be observed 
that this mode of statement is misleading. It implies 



§6.] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



51 



that a desire is an isolated thing ; whereas in reality it 
forms part of a universe or system. Consequently, the 
real strength of a desire does not depend on its own 
individual liveliness or force, but rather on the force 
of the universe or system to which it belongs. Thus a 
man might be strongly desirous of war from a feeling 
of hatred towards a foreign power. But if the man 
were of such a character that the sense of duty was 
more dominant in him than the feeling of personal 
hatred, he might decide for peace, though the desire 
for peace in itself did not strongly influence him. The 
latter desire would conquer, not because it was in 
itself the stronger, but because it formed a part of a 
stronger universe or system.' Of course a strong de- 
sire gives strength to the universe to which it belongs ; 
but the final triumph of a desire depends not on its own 
individual dominance, but on the dominance of its 
universe. How in particular individuals one universe 
comes to be dominant rather than another, is a ques- 
tion rather for Psychology than for Ethics. In so far as 
it concerns Ethics, it will be touched upon in some future 
sections of this book.^ In the meantime, what it is 
important to note is merely that a desire is not an 
isolated phenomenon but a part of a system ; and that 
consequently a conflict of desires is in reality a conflict 
between two or more universes of desire. ^ 

1 Cf. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap, i., § 105, p. 108. 

2 See, for instance, Book III., chap. vi. 

3 Cf. Dewey's Psychology, pp. 364-5 : "It is important to notice 
that it is a strife or conflict which goes on in the man himself ; it is a 
conflict of himself with himself [/. e., in our language, a conflict of him 
self as one universe w4th himself as another universe] ; it is not a con- 
flict of himself with something external to him, nor of one impulse 
with another impulse, he meanwhile remaining a passive spectator 



52 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



§ 7. Desire and Wish. — The terms "desire" and 
wish " are frequently used as synonymous ; but there 
is a slight difference in the usage of the terms, and it 
seems desirable to employ them in Ethics in distinct 
senses. We may say briefly that a wish is an effective 
desire. The meaning of this will be more apparent 
when it is considered in relation to what has just been 
said with regard to universes of desire and the conflict 
between them. It has been stated that any given 
desire belongs to a system or universe, and that various 
such systems may exist simultaneously and come into 
conflict with one another. When such conflicts occur, 
certain desires predominate over others ; some are sub- 
ordinated or sink into abeyance. Now it may be con- 
venient to limit the term wish" to those desires that 
predominate or continue to be effective. A hungry 
man may be said to have a desire for food ; but this 
desire may be dominant only within the universe of 
animal inclination. The desire may be kept in abey- 
ance by a sense of religious obligation, by devotion 
to work, or by some overmastering passion. In such 
cases we may say that the man no longer wishes for 
food, though a desire for food continues to exist in his 
consciousness as an element in a subordinate universe 
— held, as it were, in leash. A desire, then, which 

awaiting the conclusion of the struggle. What gives the conflict of 
desires its whole meaning is that it represents the man at strife with 
himself. He is the opposing contestants as well as the battle-field." 
This last expression was no doubt suggested to Prof. Dewey by a very 
striking passage in HtgoYs Philosophy of Religion (I. 64), in which he 
says : " I am not one of the combatants, but rather both of the com- 
batants and also the combat itself " ; or, as Principal Caird renders it 
{Philosophy of Religion, chap, ix., p. 262) : " I am at once the combat- 
ants and the conflict and the field that is torn with the strife." 



§8.] 



DESIRE AND WILL. 



53 



has become ineffective, is not to be described as a 
wish. ' 

§ 8. Wish and Will. — If it is important to distin- 
guish an effective wish from a mere latent desire, it is 
still more important to distinguish a wish from a defi- 
nite act of will. It might seem at first that if a wish is 
a dominant desire it must always issue in will. But 
this is not the case. The reason is that a wish is often 
of an abstract character, directed towards some single 
element in a concrete event, without reference to the 
accompanying circumstances. In order, on the other 
hand, that an event may be willed, it has to be accepted 
in its concrete totality. When Lady Anne, in Shake- 
speare's King Richard IIL, says to the Duke of Glou- 
cester, 

" Though I wish thy death, 
I will not be the executioner," 

the contrast between wish and will is well brought out. 
The wdsh for the death is a mere abstract wish, since 
it does not include the means by wdiich the death might 
be brought about. ^ On the other hand, when a total 
concrete effect is willed, it may include many elements 

1 I use the term wish, it will be observed, in a sense almost cor- 
responding to the Aristotelian ^ovArjo-t? (as distinguished fi'om ope^i?). 
See, for instance, De Anima, III., ix. 3, IIL, x. 3, &c. E. Wallace 
translates ^ovArjo-t? "settled wish." It should be observed, however, 
that " wish " is not always understood in this way by Psychologists. 
Often no distinction is drawn between Desire and Wish ; and when 
a distinction is drawn, it is frequently drawn in a different way (some- 
times almost in the opposite wa}-). 

2 Often, of course, the means are entirely beyond our power. 
Thus, we may wish for a change of weather, or to live some part of 
our past lives over again. Here the wish cannot pass into will, 
because, as soon as we think of the means, we see that they are out 
of reach. 



54 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



that are not in themselves wished, and even elements 
to which the agent s wishes are strenuously opposed. 
This also may be illustrated from Shakespeare. When 
the apothecary, in Romeo and Juliet^ says to Romeo, 
on agreeing to sell him the poison, 

" My poverty, but not my will, consents," i 

what he means is evidently that \i\^wish does not con- 
sent. He does will the sale of the poison — he accepts 
that concrete act — but he wishes it were not necessary 
for him to do so. The dominant single desire, we may 
say, is opposed to the sale of the poison e, if we as- 
sume that the apothecary was honest in his declara- 
tion) ; but the dominant universe of desire is that which 
is constituted by his poverty, and by this he is led to 
w^ill the sale. Briefly, then, we may say that a wish 
is a dominant single desire ; whereas the will depends 
on the dominance of a universe of desire.^ 

§ 9. Will and Act. — Another important distinction is 
that between the mere Will e. the mere intention^ 
purpose, or resolution) and the carrying of it into act. 
A resolution has always reference to something that is 
more or less future. Sometimes it refers to the im^ 
mediate future, and is carried into effect at once. At 
other times it refers to the remote future, and remains 
in abeyance till the proper time arrives. In the latter 
case the purpose may never be carried into effect at all. 
An intention or resolution is always something more 
than a mere wish : it is the definite acceptance of a 

1 This passage is discussed in Green's Prolegomena to Ethics^ § 143, 
p. 148. "The will," Green says, "is only the strong competing wish 
which does not suffice to determine action." 

2 This use of the term will seems to correspond pretty closely to 
the Aristotelian 



§9-] 



DESIRE AND AYILL. 



concrete event as an object to be aimed at. But if this 
event is remote, the purpose may lie within one uni- 
verse and the carrying of it out within another. When 
the time for action comes, the conditions may have 
changed. At the lowest there will be this change, that 
what was formerly presented merely in anticipative 
imagination is now presented as an actual fact. To 
resolve to make a confession, for instance, is one 
thing : actually to make it, in the presence of those to 
whom it has to be made, is often a very different thing. 
In the former case the accompanying circumstances 
are only presented in an imaginative and partly sym- 
bolic way : in the latter case they are actually present 
to sense. Now, the actual facts may not correspond 
to the anticipation. Those to whom the confession 
was to be made, for instance, may be found to be in a 
different mood from what was expected. And even if 
the anticipation proves substantially correct, still, in 
the actual presentation we may be impressed by ac- 
cessory circumstances of which we had not taken any 
particular account. The man who resolves to get up 
at an early hour may not have thought particularly 
about the coldness of the morning air, or about the 
pleasantness of lying in bed ; whereas, when the time 
comes, these may be among the most impressive 
circumstances. Or, again, when Lady Macbeth in- 
tended to murder Duncan, it did not occur to her that 
he might resemble her father. So, too, when Hamlet 
resolved to carry out the behests of the Ghost, he did 
not think of all the doubts that might suggest them- 
selves to his mind after the Ghost had vanished. Thus 
''enterprises of great pith and moment," as well as 
more insignificant designs, may be frustrated by a 



56 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



change of universe ; and the ''best intentions/' or the 
worst, may lead to nothing.' This is especially true 
when the purpose is one that carries great conse- 
quences in its train, involving perhaps a complete 
change of the world within which we have been living. 
In such a case the changed world cannot be with any 
completeness imagined, and some very small circum- 
stance may easily give a completely new turn to our 
thoughts. The ''insurrection ^ by which the universe 
within which we are living is to be overthrown cannot 
be at once carried out, and we cannot with any 
thoroughness think ourselves into the new conditions 
that are to arise. Thus a mere resolution is still far 
from being an act,'^ What is commonly called "force 
of will " means the power of carrying resolutions into 
act. This power depends largely on the habit of fixing 
our attention upon the salient features of an object that 
is aimed at, and not allowing ourselves to be distracted 
by subordinate conditions. Hence, narrow-minded or 
hard-hearted men have often more "force of will,'' in 
this sense, than those who take wider views. But a 
wide-minded man may also acquire " force of will " by 
taking a clear and decided view of the circumstances 

1 Cf. below, Book III., chap, vi., § 3. 

2 C/. Shakespeare's Julius Ccesar, Act II., scene i., 11. 63 sqq. 

" Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
The Genius and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council ; and the State of man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection." 

3 For an admirable summary of the elements involved in an act of 
will, see Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp, 48-50. 



§11-] 



DESIRE AXD WILL. 



57 



that are important, and thus eliminating insignificant 
details. 

§ 10. The oMeaxixg of Purpose. — When Will is regarded 
in relation to the end at which it aims, it is called Pur- 
pose. This term, however, is sometimes used also to 
describe the end itself, rather than the fact of aiming at 
an end. Purpose should be carefully distinguished from 
those tendencies to action which accompany appetite, 
desire, and wish. Action based on appetite is generally 
described as impulsive : but this term is sometimes used 
also with reference to actions that issue from desire. 
We may use the terms Blind Impulse and Conscious 
Impulse to mark the distinction. The tendency of a 
wish, again, to issue in action is most properly de- 
scribed by the term Inclination. When we are inclined 
to do anything, we are not merely conscious of an 
impulse to do it, but we to a certain extent approve the 
impulse ; though it maybe that, on reflection, we may 
resolve not to follow^ it. A Purpose or Resolution is 
thus distinguished from an Impulse (whether Blind or 
Conscious) and from an Inclination. 

§11. Will and Character. — "A character,'' said 
Novalis, *Ms a completely fashioned will. " Character 
may be said, in the language we have just been using, 
to consist in the continuous dominance of a definite 
universe. A man of good character is one in whom 
the universe of duty habitually predominates. A miser 
is one in whom the dominant universe is that which is 
constituted by the love of money. A fanatic is one in 
whom some particular universe is so entirely dominant 
as to shut out entirely other important points of view. 
And in like manner all other kinds of character may be 
described by reference to the nature of the universe that 



58 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. I. 



is dominant in them. When Pope said that ''Most 
women have no characters at all/' he meant that the 
universes of desire in which they hve are so continually 
varying that no one of them can be said to be habit- 
ually dominant. And certainly it is the case that 
most men, as well as most women, cannot be ac- 
counted for by so simple an explanation as the exclu- 
sive dominance of such ''ruling passions " as Pope dealt 
with. In the case of most actual human beings what 
we have is not so much any one universe that decidedly 
predominates as a number of universes that stand to 
one another in certain definite relations. The different 
relations in which they stand to one another constitute 
the differences of character. How it comes that now 
one, and now another, predominates, is, as we have 
already remarked, a question rather for Psychology 
than for Ethics. The habitual modes of action that 
accompany a formed character are described by the 
term Conduct. The meaning of this we shall have to 
discuss almost immediately. ^ 

1 Mr. Stout's article on " Voluntary Action " {Mind, New Series, 
Vol. v., no. 19) will be found in the highest degree instruc- 
tive on several of the points referred to in this chapter, as well 
as on some of those that are dealt with in the following chapters. 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



59 



CHAPTER II. 

MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 

§ 1. Preliminary Remarks. — So far we have been 
considering the general nature of the relationship 
between Desire and Will It is now necessary that we 
should direct our attention to the nature of the end 
involved in Volition ; and, in particular, that we 
should consider the important distinction between an 
Intention and a Motive. This is a point on which a 
good deal of discussion has turned ; and, owing to 
the great difficulties that are involved in it, it is a 
point that requires very careful study. First, then, we 
must try to understand exactly what Intention and 
Motive mean. 

§ 2. The Meaning of Intention. — The term Inten- 
tion corresponds pretty closely to the term Purpose. 
Indeed, they are sometimes used as synonymous. 
But Purpose seems to refer rather to the mental 
activity, and Intention to the end towards which the 
mental activity is directed. Intention, understood in 
this sense, means anything which we purpose to 
bring about. Now what we thus purpose is often 
a very complicated result. We may aim at some 
external end, i. e. at the accomplishment of some 
change in the physical world — e. g. the building of a 
house ; or in the social system within which we live — 



6o 



ETHICS. 



[bK. I., CH. II, 



e. g. the overthrow of a government ; or, again, we 
may aim at the bringing about of some state, of our 
own minds, or at the realization of some principle. 
Some distinctions between different kinds of Intention 
may help to make this clear. 

In the first place, we may distinguish between the 
immediate and the remote intentions of an act. Thus, 
two men may both have the immediate intention of 
saving a third from drowning ; but the one may wish 
to save him from drowning simply in order that his 
life may be preserved, whereas the other may wish 
to save him from drowning in order that he may be 
reserved for hanging. ^ In this case, while the imme- 
diate intentions are the same, the remote intentions 
are very different. The remote intention of an act is 
sometimes called the motive ; but this use of the term 
seems to be incorrect. 

In the second place, we may distinguish between 
the outer and the inner intention of an act. This may 
be illustrated by the familiar story of Abraham 
Lincoln and the pig that he helped out of a ditch. On 
being praised for this action, Lincoln is said to have 
replied that he did it, not for the sake of the pig, but 
rather on his own account, in order to rid his mind 
of the uncomfortable thought of the animal's distress. 
Here the outer intention was to rescue the animal, 
while the inner intention was to remove an uncom- 
fortable feeling from the mind. The inner intention, 
in this instance, is evidently only a particular case of 
the remote intention ; but it is not so in every in- 
stance. Thus if a man were to endeavour to produce 



1 Cf, Mill's Utilitarianism . chap. ii. p. 27, note. 



§ 2.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 6l 

a certain feeling in his mind — say, of penitence or 
of faith — with the view of securing the favour of 
Heaven, the immediate intention would be an inner 
one, while the remote intention would be outer. The 
inner intention of an act, like the remote intention, is 
sometimes apt to be confounded with the motive. 

In the third place, we may distinguish between the 
direct and the indirect intention of an act. If a Nihilist 
seeks to blow up a train containing an Emperor and 
others,' his direct intention may be simply the de- 
struction of the Emperor, but indirectly also he in- 
tends the destruction of the others who are in the 
train, since he is aware that their destruction will be 
necessarily included along with that of the Emperor. 

In the fourth place, w^e may distinguish between 
the conscious and the uncoiiscious intention of an act. 
To what extent any intention can be unconscious, is 
a question for psychology. By an unconscious inten- 
tion is here understood simply an intention which the 
agent does not definitely avow to himself. A man's 
conduct is often in reality profoundly influenced by 
such intentions. Thus the intention which he avows 
to himself may be that of promoting the well-being of 
mankind, while in reality he may be much more 
strongly influenced by that of advancing his own 
reputation. 

In the fifth place, we may distinguish between the 
formal and the material intention of an act. The 
material intention means the particular result as a 
realized fact; the formal intention means the principle 
embodied in the fact. Two men may both aim at the 

1 Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, i., § 2 (p. 202, 
note 2). 



62 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



overthrow of a particular government. Their material 
intentions are in that case the same. But the one 
may aim at its overthrow because he thinks it too 
progressive, the other because he thinks it too con- 
servative. The intentions of the two men are in this 
case very different formally, though their actions 
(which may consist simply in the giving of a vote) 
may be materially the same. 

These distinctions are given here, not as being an 
exhaustive list, but simply with the view of bringing 
out the complications that may be involved in a pur- 
pose. It is important to bring them out, since, 
otherwise, the relation between motive and intention 
can hardly be explained. 

Summing up, then, we may say, that an intention, 
in the broadest sense of the term, means any aim that 
is definitely adopted as an object of will ; and that 
such intentions may be of various distinct kinds. 

§ 3. Meaning of Motive. — The term motive " is not 
less ambiguous than intention." The motive means, 
of course, what moves us or causes us to act in a par- 
ticular way. Now there is an ambiguity in the term 
*^ cause." A cause may be either efficient or final. 
The efficient cause of a man's movements, for instance, 
is the action of certain nerves, muscles, &c. ; the final 
cause is the desired end, the reaching of a destination 
or the production of a result. There is a similar ambi- 
guity in the use of the term ''motive."^ A motive 
may be understood to mean either that which impels 
or that which induces us to act in a particular way. 

In the former sense, we say that we are moved by 

1 C/. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 58-60. 



3] 



MOTIVE AND IXTENTIOX. 



63 



feeling or emotion. Thus we say that a man's motive 
was anger, or jealousy, or fear, or pity, or pleasure, or 
pain. Some writers ^ have even maintained that pleasure 
and pain are the only ultimate motives. This view we 
shall shortly require to consider. In the meantime we 
have simply to remark that it is no doubt true that men 
are sometimes moved to action by feeling. In conduct 
on which a moral judgment can be passed, however, 
a man is never solely moved by feeling. If a man is 
entirely ''carried away '' by feeling — by anger or fear, 
for instance — he cannot properly be said to act at all, 
any more than a stone acts when a man throws it at 
an object. We may judge the character of a man who 
is carried away by feeling or passion : we may say 
that he ought not to have allowed himself to be so 
carried away ; but if he is entirely mastered by his 
passion, we cannot pass a moral judgment on his act, 
any more than on the act of a madman, or one who is 
drunk. ]\Ioral activity or conduct is purposeful action ; 
and action with a purpose is not simply moved by 
feeling : it is moved rather by the thought of some end 
to be attained. This leads us to the second, and more 
correct, sense in which the term ''motive" may be 
used. 

The distinction may be made clear by considering 
the case of a man who is " moved by pity to give 
assistance to a fellow-creature in distress. The mere 
feeling of pity is evidently not sufficient to move us to 
a(^tion. It may serve as an element in the efficient 
cause of action — i, e, the man who has a keen sense of 
pity may be more readily impelled to action than the 
one whose feeling is comparatively blunt. But the 
1 E. g. Bentham. 



64 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. II. 



feeling itself is not a sufficient induceme?it to action. 
By itself, it moves at the utmost to tears — as-, for in- 
stance, in the theatre, when we witness imaginary dis- 
tresses. When a man is moved to action, he must 
have, besides the mere feeling, the conception of an 
end to be attained. He perceives a fellow-creature, 
for instance, in a wretched plight, and sees that, by a 
certain effort, the man might be put in a more favour- 
able position. The putting of the man in this more 
favourable position presents itself to his mind as a 
desirable end ; and the thought of this desirable end 
induces him to act in a particular way. If he feels 
pity, in addition, this may impel him the more readily 
to such an action ; but the feeling of pity is not, by 
itself, the inducement to the action, /. e. the motive 
in the more correct sense. The motive, that which 
induces us to act, is the thought of a desirable end.' 
§ 4. Relation between Motives and Intentions,— 

1 So also when, in Goldsmith's ballad, 

" The dog, to gain some private ends, 
Went mad, and bit the man," 

the motive was constituted by the gaining of some private ends, not 
by the mere madness. Cf. Tucker's Li^ht of Nature, chap. v. The 
view of Motive given above seems to be essentially that of Aristotle, 
when he says {De Anima, III. x. 4) ad KLvel to bp^KTov ("it is always 
the desired object that moves to action " ). Some writers, however, 
still object to this use of the term. See, for instance, the discussions 
in the International Journal of Ethics, Vol. IV., Nos. i and 2. Pro- 
fessor Ritchie maintains there (p. 236) that * desire ' is the genus of 
which 'motive' is a species. The differentia of 'motive' is the 
presence of a conception of an end." But surely this must be 
erroneous. Surely all desire involves a conception of an end. It is 
right to add that the term " motive " seems originally to have been 
used for any efficient cause of movement. It appears to be used in 
this way in Shakespeare's description of QressMar^ 



§4-] 



MOTIVE AXD INTENTION. 



65 



From what has now been said, it is evident that the 
relation between motives and intentions is a very close 
one. The motive of our act is that which induces us 
to perform it. Now it is evident that this must be in- 
cluded in the intention, in the broadest sense of that 
term, but need not be, and generally will not be, iden- 
tical with the whole of it. ' What induces us to perform 
an act is always something* that we hope to achieve 
by it ; ^ but there may be much that we expect to 
achieve by it (and even that we consciously intend to 
achieve by it) which would not serve as an inducement 
to its performance, and which might even serve as an 
inducement not to perform it. The motive of a reform- 
er may be partly that of improving the state of man- 
kind and partly th^t of acquiring fame for himself. 
Both of these ends form part of his intention, in the 
widest sense of the term. But he may also be well 
aware that the result of his action will be, for a time, 
not to send peace on the earthy but a sword. '' He 
may anticipate a certain amount of confusion and 
misery as the immediate result of his action, and per- 
haps also of persecution for himself. If he clearly 

'* Her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body." 
But here, as in so many other cases, the meaning of the word has 
been gradually modified, partly to suit the conveniences of ordinary 
life, and partly to meet the requirements of science. 

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 61. When Prof. Dewey 
{Outlines of Ethics, p. 9) says that " the foreseen, the ideal conse- 
quences are the end of the act, and as such form the motive," he 
appears to identify the motive with the whole intention. This seems 
to me to be erroneous, or at least to be an inconvenient use of the 
term. For the meaning of " ideal " in this phrase of Prof. Dewey's, 
see above. Introduction, chap, ii., § 5, note. 

2 Except of course when we are impelled by mere feeling or passion. 

Eth. 5 



66 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



foresees that these results will ensue on his action, it 
can scarcely be said that he does not intend them. He 
deliberately accepts them as being inevitably involved 
in the good result which he hopes to achieve. But 
assuredly we may say that these evil consequences 
form no part of his motive in endeavouring to achieve 
the good result. Or, to take a still simpler case, when 
Brutus helped to kill Caesar, in order to save his coun- 
try,^ he certainly intended to kill Caesar, but the killing 
of Csesar was no part of his motive. 

The motive of an act, then, is a part of the intention, 
in the broadest sense of that term, but does not neces- 
sarily include the whole of the intention. Adopting 
the distinctions that have been drawn in section 2, we 
may say that the motive generally includes the greater 
part of the remote intention, but frequently does not 
include much of the immediate intention ; that it 
generally includes the direct intention, but not the 
indirect ; that it nearly always includes the formal 
intention, but often not much of the material intention ; 
and that it may be either outer or inner, conscious or 
unconscious. 

§5. Is THE Motive ALWAYS Pleasure? — We are now 
in a position to deal with the question, to which 
allusion has already been made, whether the motive 
to action is always pleasure. This question must be 
carefully distinguished, at the outset, from the question 
whether pleasure is always involved in the presentation 
of any motive. This distinction has been expressed 
as that between taking pleasure in an idea and aiming 

1 Assuming the view taken by Plutarch and Shakespeare to be 
correct For a different view of Brutus, see Froude's Ccesar. 



6.] 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



67 



at the idea of pleasure. It is probably true that every- 
thing at which we aim is thought of as pleasant. We 
take pleasure in the idea of accomplishing our end. 
To say this is obviously a very different thing from 
saying that the idea of pleasure is the end at which we 
aim, or that pleasure is always that which serves as 
the inducement to action. ^ The former view would 
be generally accepted by all psychologists ; the latter 
is the doctrine of those who are known as Psychological 
Hedonists. This doctrine is expressed, for instance, in 
the following passage from Bentham,^ '^Nature has 
placed man under the empire of pleasure and of pain. 
We owe to them all our ideas ; we refer to them all 
our judgments, and all tlie determinations of our life. 
He who pretends to withdraw himself from this sub- 
jection knows not what he says. His only object is 
to seek pleasure and to shun pain, even at the very 
instant that he rejects the greatest pleasures or em- 
braces pains the most acute. These eternal and 
irresistible sentiments ought to be the great study of 
the moralist and the legislator. The principle of utility 
subjects everything to these two motives." Here we 
have a clear statement of the view that pleasure and 
pain are the only possible motives to action, the only 
ends at which we can aim. This is the view that we 
have now to consider. 

§ 6. Psychological Hedonism. — Psychological He- 
donism is the theory that the ultimate object of desire 
is pleasure. The best knovv^i exponent of this doctrine 

1 It is probably true, as Mr. Bradley has urged, that the idea of 
pleasure is always pleasant (see Mind, New Series, Vol. IV, no. 14). 
But this does not affect the present point 

3 Principles of Legislation^ chap. I. 



68 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



is John Stuart Mill' In the fourth chapter of his book 
on Uiiliiarianism he reasons in the following way. 
''And now to decide whether this is really so ; whether 
mankind do desire nothing for itself but that which is 
a pleasure to them, or of which the absence is a pain ; 
we have evidently arrived at a question of fact and 
experience, dependent, like all similar questions, upon 
evidence. It can only be determined by practised 
self-consciousness and self-observation, assisted by 
observation of others. I believe that these sources of 
evidence, impartially consulted, will declare that desir- 
ing a thing and finding it pleasant, aversion to it and 
thinking of it as painful, are phenomena entirely insep- 
arable, or rather two parts of the same phenomenon ; 
in strictness of language, two different modes of naming 
the same psychological fact : that to think of an object 
as desirable (except for the sake of its consequences), 
and to think of it as pleasant, are one and the same 
thing; and that to desire anything, except in propor- 
tion as the idea of it is pleasant, is a physical and 
metaphysical impossibility.'' This passage has been 
well criticised by Dr. Sidgwick in \\\s Ulethods of Eihics 
(Book I., chap. iv.). He says — ''Mill explains that 
' desiring a thing and finding it pleasant, are, in strict- 

1 Nearly all Hedonists, however, especially egoistic Hedonists, 
have with more or less clearness adopted this position. For a general 
historical exposition of the Hedonistic point of view, the student may 
be referred to Lecky's History of European Morals, chap, i., and 
Watson's Hedonistic Theories, from Aristippus to Spencer. The chief 
living exponent of psychological Hedonism is Professor Bain. See 
his Menial and Moral Science, Book IV., chap, iv., and The Emotions 
and the Will, " The Will," chap. viii. Dr. Bain, however, admits that 
it is possible, " for moments," to aim at other things than pleasure. 
On the general meaning of Hedonism and its chief varieties, see 
below, Book II., chap, iv., §§ 1-4. 



70 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



69 



ness of language, two modes of naming the same 
psychological fact/ If this be the case, it is hard to 
see how the proposition we are discussing requires to 
be determined by 'practised self-consciousness and 
self-observation ; ' as the denial of it would involve a 
contradiction in terms. The truth is that there is an 
ambiguity in the word Pleasure, which has always 
tended seriously to confuse the discussion of this ques- 
tion. When we speak of a man doing something at 
his own 'pleasure,' or as he 'pleases,' we usually sig- 
nify the mere fact of choice or preference ; the mere 
determination of the will in a certain direction. Now, 
if by 'pleasant' we mean that which influences 
choice, exercises a certain attractive force on the will, 
it is an assertion incontrovertible because tautological, 
to say that we desire what is pleasant — or even that 
we desire a thing in proportion as it appears pleasant." 
This would mean simply that we desire it in proportion 
as we desire it; because "appears pleasant " means 
simply "is desired by us." But, as Dr. Sidgwick goes 
on to say, if we understand "pleasure" in a more exact 
sense, it is not obvious that what we desire is always 
pleasure. If we take pleasure to mean the agree- 
able feeling w^hich attends the satisfaction of our wants, 
it is not by any means evident that this is always what 
we desire. On the contrary, it seems evident rather 
that this is not always what we desire. 

§7. The Object of Desire, (i) The Paradox of He- 
donism. — In the ^ciTioi\\\^ Methods of Ethics to which 
reference has just been made. Dr. Sidgwick goes on to 
argue that in fact what we desire is very frequently 
some objective end, and not the accompanying plea- 
sure. He points out that even when we do desire 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. II. 



pleasure, the best way to get it is often to forget it. 
If we think about the pleasure itself, we are almost 
sure to miss it ; whereas if we direct our desires 
towards objective ends, the pleasure comes of itself. 
This is not true of all pleasures. It is true chiefly of 
the pleasures of pursuit."^ '^Take, for example," 
says Dr. Sidgwick, ''the case of any game which in- 
volves — as most games do — a contest for victory. No 
ordinary player before entering on such a contest, has 
any desire for victory in it : indeed lie often finds it 
difficult to imagine himself deriving gratification from 
such victory, before he has actually engaged in the 
competition. What he deliberately, before the game 
begins, desires, is not victory, but the pleasant excite- 
ment of the struggle for it ; only for the full develop- 
ment of this pleasure a transient desire to win the game 
is generally indispensable. This desire, which does 
not exist at first, is stimulated to considerable intensity 
by the competition itself.'' ''A certain degree of dis- 
interestedness seems to be necessary in order to obtain 
full enjoyment. A man who maintains throughout an 
epicurean mood, fixing his aim on his own pleasure, 
does not catch the full spirit of the chase ; his eagerness 
never gets just the sharpness of edge which imparts to 
the pleasure its highest zest. Here comes into view 
what we may call the fundamental paradox of Hedon- 
ism, that the impulse towards pleasure, if too pre- 
dominant, defeats its own aimi. This effect is not 
visible, or at any rate is scarcely visible, in the case of 
passive sensual pleasures. But of our active enjoy- 
ments generally .... it may certainly be said that 



1 See the Note at the end of this chapter. 



§8.] 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



71 



we cannot attain them, at least in their highest degree, 
so long as we concentrate our aim on them." 
''Similarly, the pleasures of thought and study can 
only be enjoyed in the highest degree by those who 
have an ardour of curiosity which carries the mind 
temporarily away from self and its sensations. In all 
kinds of Art, again, the exercise of the creative faculty 
is attended by intense and exquisite pleasures ; but in 
order to get them, one must forget them.'' This 
''paradox of Hedonism/' that in order to get pleasure 
it is necessary to seek something else, was to some 
extent recognized even by ]\Iill ; but he does not seem 
to have perceived that it is inconsistent with the view 
that desire is always directed towards pleasure. 
Desire can evidently be, at least temporarily, directed 
not towards pleasure, but towards certain objective 
ends. 

§ 8. The Object of Desire. (2) Wa?i/s prior to Sat- 
isfactions, — We must next notice another point, which 
was brought out chiefly by Butler ' and Hutcheson, 
though some subsequent writers have ignored it — viz. 
that many kinds of pleasure would not exist at all, if 
they were not preceded by certain desires for objects. 
Take, for instance, the pleasures of the benevolent af- 
fections. No one could possibly feel these pleasures 
unless he were first benevolent — /. e, had a desire for 
the welfare of others. In such a case, therefore, the 
very existence of the pleasure depends on the fact that 
desire is first directed towards something other than 
pleasure. It might even be argued that this is the case 

1 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, p. 192 ; and cf. Green's edition 
of Hume, vol. ii., Introd., p. 26, Green's Prolegomena to Ethics^ § 161, 
p. 167, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., p. 230, note. 



72 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



with all pleasures. Pleasure ensues upon the satisfac- 
tion of certain wants, and the wants must be prior to 
the satisfactions. We have a disinterested'' desire 
for food, before we can have a desire for the pleasure 
that accompanies the taking of food. From this con- 
sideration also it appears that thera are some desires 
which are not desires for pleasure. 

§ 9. The Object of Desire. (3) Pleasures and Plea- 
sure, At the same time it must be allowed that there 
is a certain plausibility in Mill's statements, and we 
must endeavour to account for this plausibility. It 
seems to arise from an ambiguity ' in the word ''plea- 
sure.'' Pleasure is sometimes understood to mean 
agreeable feelings or the feeling of satisfaction, and 
sometimes it is understood to mean an object that gives 
satisfaction. The hearing of music is sometimes said 
to be a pleasure : but of course the hearing of music is 
not a feeling of satisfaction ; it is an object that gives 
satisfaction. Generally it may be observed that when 
we speak of pleasures " in the plural, or rather in 
the concrete, we mean objects that give satisfaction ; 
whereas when we speak of '' pleasure " in the abstract 
we more often mean the feeling of satisfaction which 
such objects bring with them.^ But this is not always 
the case. 

Perhaps this distinction is more obvious in the case 
of pain than in the case of pleasure. Pain is generally 
understood as the negative of pleasure, i. e. as meaning 
disagreeable feeling, or feeling of dissatisfaction. But 

1 A second ambiguity- Another ambiguity, pointed out by Dr. 
Sidgwick, has been already referred to above. 

2 C/. Dr. Ward's article on " Psychology " in the Encyclopcedia 
Britannica, p, 71. 



§9.] 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



73 



when we speak of ''pains" we usually mean objects 
that produce a disagreeable feeling; and indeed we 
usually mean objects of a definite kind — viz, organic 
sensations. The pain of toothache, for instance, is not 
merely a feeling of disagreeableness or dissatisfaction, 
but a definite sensation. That sensation is an object, 
and it is an object which brings with it a feeling of 
disagreeableness. The sensation of burning is another 
object; the sensation of a stunning blow is another 
object; the consciousness of having acted wrongly is 
another object. All these objects bring with them a 
disagreeable feeling ; but in all of them the object 
which brings the disagreeable feeling, or is accom- 
panied by the disagreeable feeling, is quite distinguish- 
able from the feeling of disagreeableness itself^ 

Now when it is said that what we desire is always 
pleasure, what seems to be meant is that what we de- 
sire is always some object the attainment of which is 
accompanied by an agreeable feeling. But this is so 
true that it is almost a tautology. It is clear that if we 
desire anything, the attainment of it will bring at least 
a temporary satisfaction ; and this satisfaction will be 
accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction — e. pleasure. 
Consequently, anything that we desire may be said to 
be a pleasure — e. something that will bring pleasure 
when attained. The man who desires the overthrow 

1 Ktilpe and Titchener {Outline of Psychology) are honourably 
distinguished among psychologists by the care with which they 
have distinguished between pain and unpleasantness. Organic 
pain seems to be a distinct sensation in quite the same sense in 
which a sweet taste or smell is a distinct sensation. The feeling or 
affection of pleasure and pain, though perhaps inseparable from 
these experiences, can be distinguished from them quite clearly 



74 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. II. 



of a political party, for instance, will be pleased if that 
event happens. We may consequently say that the 
overthrow of the party was a pleasure. It is in this 
sense that we use the phrase ' ^ an unexpected pleasure, " 
and the like. But evidently the overthrow of a politi- 
cal party is not itself an agreeable feeling ; it only 
brings an agreeable feeling with it. The fact that we 
desire pleasures is no evidence that we desire pleasure, 
A passage from Mill may help to make this clear. 
''What, for example/' he asks,' ''shall we say of the 
love of money } There is nothing originally more de- 
sirable about money than about any heap of glittering 
pebbles. Its worth is solely that of the things which 
it will buy ; the desires for other things than itself, 
which it is a means of gratifying. Yet the love of 
money is not only one of the strongest moving forces 
of human life, but money is, in many cases, desired in 
and for itself; the desire to possess it is often stronger 
than the desire to use it, and goes on increasing when 
all the desires which point to ends beyond it, to be 
compassed by it, are falling off. It may be then said 
truly, that money is desired not for the sake of an end, 
but as part of the end. From being a means to happi- 
ness, it has come to be itself a principal ingredient of 
the individual's conception of happiness. The same 
may be said of the majority of the great objects of 
human life — power, for example, or fame. . . . The 
strongest attraction, both of power and of fame, is the 
immense aid they give to the attainment of our other 
wishes ; and it is the strong association thus generated 
between them and all our objects of desire, which gives 



1 Utilitarianism y chap. iv. 



lO.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



75 



to the direct desire of them the intensity it often as- 
sumes, so as in some characters to surpass in strength 
all other desires. In these cases the means have be- 
come a part of the end, and a more important part of 
it than any of the things which they are means to. 
What was once de.sired as an instrument for the attain- 
ment of happiness, has come to be desired for its own 
sake. In being desired for its own sake it is, however, 
desired as part of happiness. . . . The desire of it is 
not a different thing from the desire of happiness, any 
more than the love of music, or the desire of health. 
They are included in happiness. They are some of the 
elements of which the desire of happiness is made up. 
Happiness is not an abstract idea, but a concrete 
whole; and these are some of its parts.'' The mean- 
ing of all this seems quite clear. Evidently money, 
power, fame, music, and health are not parts of agree- 
able feeling. What Mill means is that they are parts 
of that totality of objects which gives agreeable feeling. 
That we desire such objects, then, may show that we 
seek pleasures, but not that we seek pleasure. And 
that we seek pleasures is a mere tautology. It means 
simply that we seek what we seek. 

§ 10. Can Reason serve as a Motive .? — Even those 
writers who have not committed themselves to the view 
that pleasure and pain are the only possible motives, 
have sometimes been inclined to argue that at least 
Reason is not capable of serving as a motive to action. 
This view was most clearly stated by Hume, when he 
said' that ''Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave 
of the passions, and can never pretend to any other 

1 Treatise of Unman Nature, Book II., Part III., Section IIL C/. 
also DisseKtation on the Passions, Section V. 



76 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



office than to serve and obey them." The term Pas- 
sion, as here used, is practically synonymous with Im- 
pulse ; and the meaning of the statement is that all 
actions depend on particular impulses, while reason 
can at the most only indicate the means by which these 
impulses may be gratified. Reason, it is thus held, 
cannot form any new motive for us : it can only show 
how an existing motive may be pursued to the best 
advantage. This view, however, seems to rest on that 
false conception of the nature of desire to which reference 
has already been made. It proceeds on the supposi- 
tion that our mental constitution is made up of a num- 
ber of isolated and independent desires, among which 
reason works as a separate faculty. If we recognise 
that our desires form a universe, then they cannot be 
said to exist independently. The problem then is to 
understand the nature of the whole within which par- 
ticular desires emerge. If that whole is a rational sys- 
tem, the desires which grow up in it will be very dif- 
ferent from those desires that might exist in a being 
in whom reason is not yet developed. In this sense, 
therefore, reason may be said not only to guide our 
desires, impulses, or passions, but actually to consti- 
tute their determinate nature. Reason, that is to say, 
may set before us ends or motives which for an irra- 
tional being would not exist at all. In this sense, 
then, reason is capable of furnishing us with motives 
to action. 

§ 11. Is Reason the only Motive ? — There is, how- 
ever, an error of an opposite kind against which also 
we must be on our guard, though no doubt it is one 
into which, in modern times, we are in much less dan- 
ger of falling. We must not suppose that a// motives 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



77 



are rational motives, /. e. that the inducement to act 
is always for a human being what it would be if he 
were guided entirely by reason. This view may be 
better understood by a reference to the doctrine of 
Socrates. Socrates maintained that ''virtue is know- 
ledge/"' by which he meant that if we knew with perfect 
clearness what the nature of the moral end is we should 
inevitably pursue it. Now it is no doubt true that 
within a completely rational universe the supreme good 
would serve as the supreme inducement. But if it is 
possible that a man may know the nature of the 
supreme good and yet not occupy a completely rational 
universe, then it is possible to know the good and not 
to pursue it. Now it seems clear at least that it is pos- 
sible to know what is good with a very tolerable degree 
of clearness, and yet not pursue it. This is expressed 
in the familiar saying, ''Video meliora proboque, de- 
teriora sequor. The reason of this is that the motive 
to action is not always completely rational. 

§ 12. How ^Motives are Constituted. — The conclu- 
sion, therefore, to which we are led is that motives are 
neither constituted simply by pleasure and pain, nor 
simply by dominant desires, passions, or impulses, nor 
simply by reason, but that they depend upon the 
nature of the universe within which they emerge. A 
motive, v.'e may say generally, is an end which is in 
harmony or conformity with the universe within which 
it is presented. At any given moment in our lives 
there are various possible ends which we may set be- 
fore ourselves. There are various ways in which the 
content of our world might be changed, so as to be 
more in harmony with the system of our conscious- 
ness. Now, in so far as any such change presents itself 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. II. 



to us as something- which could be brought about by 
our own activity, it presents itself to us as a possible 
motive to action. Whether it will actually move us to 
act depends on the question whether the motive pre- 
sented to us is compatible with other possible motives 
which are presented to us at the same time. The 
line of action that is finally willed by us is that which 
coheres most perfectly with the general system of our 
consciousness. Whether or not the line thus adopted 
is a reasonable line depends on the question whether 
or not we are living within a rational universe.' 

At this point, however, we come definitely upon the 
question with respect to the relationship between Char- 
acter and Conduct ; and as this is a question of great 
importance, it seems to require a separate chapter. 

1 In connection with this point, reference may be profitably made 
to Dr. Sidgwick's article on Unreasonable Action" {Mind, New 
Series, No. 6), and to Mr. Stout's Analytic Psychology, Vol. II., p. 267. 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 



79 



Note on Pleasure and Desire. 

It is assumed in this chapter that a satisfied desire brings pleasure, 
while an unsatisfied desire (or an unsatisfied appetite) is accom- 
panied by pain. It should be observed, however, that this is a point 
on which there has been a good deal of discussion ; and that the 
view taken in the text is not universally adopted. The chief point 
on which there is difference of opinion is with reference to what 
are called " the Pleasures of Pursuit." It is held by some writers, and 
notably by Professor Sidgwick, that, in consequence of the existence 
of these pleasures, unsatisfied desires and appetites are frequently 
in themselves rather pleasurable than painful. It may be well here 
to add a few words on this point. Professor Sidgwick's view is 
thus stated in the Methods of Ethics (Book I., chap, iv., § 2, p. 48) :— 

When a desire is having its natural effect in causing the actions 
which tend to the attainment of its object, it seems to be commonly 
either a neutral or a more or less pleasurable consciousness : even 
when this attainment is still remote. At any rate the consciousness 
of eager activity, in which this desire is an essential item, is highly 
pleasurable : and in fact such pleasures, which we may call generally 
the pleasures of Pursuit, constitute a considerable element in the 
total enjoyment of life. Indeed it is almost a commonplace to say 
that they are more important than the pleasures of Attainment : and 
in many cases it is the prospect of the former rather than of the latter 
that induces us to engage in a pursuit." 1 I believe that this anti- 
thesis between " Pursuit " and " Attainment " involves a fundamental 
misconception, and it seems to me to be of considerable importance 
that this misconception should be removed. There is, so far as I 
can see, no such thing as a pleasure of Pursuit, as opposed to Attain- 
ment. The truth appears to me to be rather that there are two kinds 
of attainment— what might be called progressive attainment and 
catastrophic Rtta.mment The "pleasure of Pursuit" is, I think, in 
reality the pleasure of progressive Attainment. When it was said, 
for instance, " If I held Truth in my hand, I would let it go again for 
the pleasure of pursuing it" what was really intended seems to have 
been the pleasure of progressively attaining it. And I think this is 



1 For some further illustrations of Dr. Sidgwick's view, the reader 
may be referred to Mind, New Series, vol. i., No. i (Jan. 1892), pp. 
94-iOL 



8o 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II. 



the case also with those pleasures that are referred to by Professor 
Sidgwick as " pleasures of Pursuit.^ He takes the case, for instance, 
of a game of skill. " No ordinary player, before entering on such a 
contest, has any desire for victory in it : indeed he often finds it 
difficult to imagine himself deriving gratification from such victory, 
before he has actually engaged in the competition. What he delib- 
erately, before the game begins, desires is not victory, but the pleas- 
ant excitement of the struggle for it ; only for the full development 
of this pleasure a transient desire to win the game is generally in- 
dispensable. This desire, which does not exist at first, io stimulated 
to considerable intensity by the competition itself : and in proportion 
as it is thus stimulated both the mere contest becomes more pleasur- 
able, and the victor}^ which was originally indifferent, comes to 
afford a keen enjoyment." With the whole of this passage I agree, 
with the single exception of the statement that the contest becomes 
more pleasurable in proportion as the desire to win the game is 
stimulated. On the contrary, it seems to me that we may distinguish 
between two kinds of desire to win the game — viz. the desire to win 
it simply as a catastrophic result, and the desire to win it as the cul- 
minating point in a continuous process. In proportion as the former 
kind of desire is stimulated, it appears to me that the game ceases 
to be pleasurable. It is, I believe, a common experience that the 
gambler whose aim is fixed exclusively on the result of the game 
ceases to get any real pleasure from it. The man who really enjoys 
the game is he who desires victory, but desires it only as the culmi- 
nating point in a progressive series. And the same applies in other 
cases. The mountaineer who merely wishes to reach the topmost 
peak, is simply annoyed by the process of climbing up : he would 
prefer to reach it by a balloon or by a hydraulic hoist. The man 
who enjoys the ascent is the one who desires the end only in so far 
as it gives unity and completeness to the process of attaining it. So 
also the man who is merely interested in the conclusion of a story 
does not enjoy the novel in which it is told : his view is rather like 
that of Christopher Sly— "'Tis a very excellent piece of work- 
would 'twere done ! " The man who really enjoys the story cares 
for the end only in relation to the process that leads up to it. Now 
the man who desires an end in relation to the process of reaching 
it, is not, I think, correctly described as receiving pleasure from a 
piirsiUt, as distinguished from an attainment. The pursuit is, for 
him, a progressive attainment. From the nature of the case, he 
could not attain otherwise than by pursuit. A story, for instance, 
does not admit of any kind of attainment but that of going through 



MOTIVE AND INTENTION'. 



8i 



it from beginning to end. In such a process the desire receives a 
continuous satisfaction, and is not properly regarded as waiting for 
its satisfaction till the end is reached. 

I conceive that this view may be applied even to such a case as 
that of hunger. It seems to me, indeed, to be somewhat incorrect 
to speak of the mere appetite of hunger as desire. Hunger ought, I 
think, to be sharply distinguished from the desire for food. It seems 
to me to be mainly owing to the failure to draw this distinction that 
hunger is represented by Professor Sidgwick as forming an excep- 
tion 1 to the general rule about the Paradox of Hedonism." 2 It 
forms an exception, so far as I can see, onh' because it is not a desire 
at all. This, however, is a side issue, on which I do not wish to 
insist at present The craving of hunger, though not properly a 
desire, seems to resemble certain of our desires in being susceptible 
of a progressive satisfaction : and it is for this reason, as I conceive, 
that the craving appears often to be pleasurable. It is pleasurable 
because it is continuously attaining its object As far as I can judge, 
indeed, the satisfaction of hunger begins, under normal conditions, 
even prior to the taking of food at all. The " watering of the mouth " 
is, I think, a commencement of satisfaction ; and in the case of pre- 
datory animals I suspect that there is a certain satisfaction even in 
the act of pursuit^ At any rate, the normal act of satisfying hunger 
does not appear to be of a catastrophic character. Diiccreccrnam is 
a principle of general appHcability. The satisfaction of the craving 
is a progressive one. Now, if this is the case, it seems clear that the 
mere fact that hunger is, under normal conditions, rather pleasur- 
able than otherwise (which I believe to be true), cannot he accepted 
as a proof that the mere craving in itself is pleasurable, or is not 
painful, in so far as it remains unsatisfied. For under normal con- 
ditions it is not unsatisfied, but is progressively attaining its end.^ 

There is another point, closely connected with this one, which ap- 
pears to me to be overlooked by Professor Sidgwick in his discus- 
sion on the above subject — viz. that our desires and appetites are 
capable, to a considerable extent, of an imaginative satisfaction. 

1 See Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap, iv., § 2, p. 49 : " This effect " 
[viz. that we lose pleasure by seeking it] " is not visible, or at any 
rate is scarcely visible, in the case of passive sensual pleasures." 

2 See above, § 7. 

3 It is only in this sense, I think, that there is any real "pleasure 
of pursuit" 

4 See also Spencer's Data of Ethics, pp. 156-158. 

Eth. ■ 5 



82 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. II, 



Dickens's " Marchioness " did not by any means stand alone in the 
power of " making-believe very much." If it is true that 

" Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once," 

it may also be said that the imaginative satisfy their desires many 
times before they are satisfied in fact, while the unimaginative have 
but a single satisfaction. The imaginative player, even if he loses, 
loses but once for a score of times that he has won— in fancy ; and 
these imaginary successes may be quite as satisfying to his mind at 
the moment as an equal number of real ones would have been. The 
pleasures of Pursuit " are to a large extent made up of these mental 
victories ; and this fact must largely qualify our view of them as 
cases of unsatisfied desire, even apart from the consideration (which 
may not be always applicable! that the desire is in reality attaining 
its end by means of a continuous process. 

I make these remarks merely with the view of bringing out the 
point of view which seems to me correct, and which I have adopted 
in the present handbook They are not by any means offered w^ith 
the view of giving a complete solution to the difficult question 
involved.! 



1 Students interested in the subject of pleasures of Pursuit will find 
further discussion and admirable illustrations in Tucker's Light of 
Nature, chap. vi. 



CHARACTER AX'D CONDUCT. 



83 



CHAPTER III.^ 

CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 

§ 1. General Remarks. We now understand, in 
some degree, what is meant by Will, Desire, Motive, 
Intention, and what is the nature of the relationship 
between these ; and we are now prepared to consider 
the nature of Character and its relation to Conduct. 
In discussing thisj we are naturally led to the famous 
question about the Freedom of the Will ; for this con- 
cerns the relationship between Character and Conduct. 
And in considering this, it seems necessary also to ex- 
plain the terms Circumstance and Habit. Accordingly 
I intend first to present four sections, dealing respec- 
tively with Character, Conduct, Circumstance, and 
Habit, then to expjain the significance of the Freedom 
of the Will, and finally to sum up about the nature of 
Voluntary Action. 

§ 2. Character. We have seen that Character means 
the complete universe or system constituted by acts 
of will of a particular kind. Character is on the whole 
the most important element in life from the point of 
view of Ethics, as we shall see more fully in the 
sequel. ^ ^ 

The accidental dominance of a good purpose at this 
or that moment is of comparatively little consequence 
unless it is an indication of the habitual dominance of 



84 



ETHICS. 



[bK. I., CH. III. 



a certain universe. Hence Aristotle rightly laid em- 
phasis rather on the formation of Good Habit — /. e., 
in the language we have here adopted, on the establish- 
ment of a continuously dominant universe — than on 
the mere presence of a Good Will at any given mo- 
ment. Will is, indeed, the expression of character, 
but it is the expression of it under the limitations of 
a particular time and place ; and much may remain 
latent in the character which it would be necessary to 
take into account in forming a complete moral estimate 
of a given individual. This is well expressed in Brown- 
ing's Rabbi Ben Ezra — 

" Not on the vulgar mass 
Called * work ' must sentence pass, 
Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; 



But all, the world's coarse thumb 

And finger failed to plumb, 
So passed in making up the main account ; 

All instincts immature, 

All purposes unsure, 
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man s amount. 

Thoughts hardly to be packed 

Into a narrow act. 
Fancies that broke through language and escaped : 

All I could never be. 

All, men ignored in me. 

This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped/' 

At the same time, it is true that ''the tree is known 
by its fruit." The good character necessarily expresses 
itself in good acts of will. 

§ 3. Conduct. The term conduct is sometimes used 

1 Ethics^ Book II, chap. v. 



§40 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



85 



in a loose sense to include all sorts of vital activities, 
or at any rate all vital activities which are directed to 
an end. It is in this sense, for instance, that the term 
is employed by j\Ir. Herbert Spencer.^ Consequently 
he speaks of the conduct of molluscs, &c. ^ But this 
seems to be an inconvenient extension of the meaning- 
of the term. Although the activities of molluscs are 
no doubt adjusted to an end, yet we cannot regard 
them as purposeful activities. A purposeful activity 
is not merely directed to an end, but, as Kant put it, 
directed by the idea of an end. Now even the higher 
animals, in so far as they are guided by mere instinct,^ 
cannot bo supposed to have any such idea. They 
move towards certain ends, but they do not will these 
ends. They have an end, but they have no purpose.^ 
Now i\Ir. Spencer admits that purposeless acts are not 
to be included in conduct. Hence it seems best to 
confine the term conduct to those acts that are not 
merely adjusted to ends, but also definitely willed. A 
person's conduct, then, is the complete system of such 
acts, corresponding to his character. 

§ 4. Circumstance. — We have said that conduct cor- 
responds to character. But of course the particular 
acts which are performed by an individual depend not 
only on the nature of the systematic unity of his con- 

1 Data of Ethics, chap. i. ^ ihid., chap. ii. 

3 It may well be doubted whether they ever have such an idea. 
Darwin, however, who is certainly a high authority, seems disposed 
to attribute some consciousness of the adaptation of means to end 
even to such very humble creatures as earthworms. 

4 It might be convenient to use the term 'purposive, as distinguished 
from purposeful, to denote action (such as instinctive movements) 
in which an end may be seen to be involved, but in which there is 
no definite consciousness of the end aimed at. 



86 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. III. 



sciousrftss, but also on the conditions or environment 
within which his life happens to be passed. Hence it 
is sometimes said that a man's conduct depends upon 
his character and circumstances. We must now con- 
sider what exactly is to be understood by circum- 
stances. 

In the first place, we must note that, if we are to 
understand the ethical significance of a man's circum- 
stances, we must clear our minds of that view accord- 
ing to which circumstances are simply the external 
environment in which a man's life is passed. Under- 
stood in this sense, any contemporary event might be 
called a ci^rcumstance — e. g, the position of the planets, 
the state of the tides, the direction of the wind, &c. 
But for most purposes (unless we are believers in Astro- 
logy), such conditions are not to be classed as circum- 
stances at all. Again, the geological formation of the 
country in which a man lives is seldom worth reckon- 
ing as a circumstance ; though the presence of gold 
or coal or iron may be a circumstance of considerable 
importance. Riches or poverty, health ot disease, are 
generally circumstances of more importance ; and so 
are, in general, a man's socia-l surroundings. From 
such considerations as this we may see that it is not 
so easy as it might at first appear to determine what a 
man's circumstances are, in any sense that is ethically 
significant. Circumstances in this sense are not any- 
thing external to the man, but only external conditions 
in so far as they enter into hfs life. Whi^t are to be 
reckoned circumstances in this sense, is a question that 
depends on the character of the man. Hence it is some- 
what misleading to speak as if character and circurii- 
stance were two co-ordinate factors in human life ; 



§4.] 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



87 



since it depends largely on character whether anything 
is to be reckoned a circumstance or not' 

Again, are we to say that the fact that a man has 
a good memory, or a good temper, or a good under- 
standing, or a good reputation, is an element in his 
character or in his circumstance? Such facts depend 
largely on the systematic constitution of a man's con- 
scious life, and so belong to his character ; yet, on the 
other hand, they may be regarded as circumstances 
by which he is helped or hindered in the conduct of his 
life. Even the fact that a man has already formed a 
good habit of action — say^ a habit of punctuality — may 
be a favourable circumstance with reference to his future 
development. Thus it is to a considerable extent a 
question of the point of view from which a thing is 
regarded, whether it is to be described as an element 
of character or of circumstance. Probably by far the 
greatest part of any man's present circumstance is 
simply the expression of what his past character has 
been. 

Hence, when we say that a man's actions are the 
result of his character and his circumstance, we must 
remember that two men living to all appearance in the 
same general conditions may in reality be in wholly 
different circumstances. What stimulates one may 
depress another, just as ''the twilight that sends the 
hens to roost sets the fox to prowl, and the lion's roar 
which gathers the jackals scatters the sheep. ''^ What 

1 Some suggestive remarks on this point will be found in a paper 
on " Character and the Emotions," by Mr, A. F. Shand, on Mind, new 
series, Vol. v., Xo. 18. The relationship between character and cir- 
cumstance has also been brought out, in a profound and suggestive 
way, by Mr. Bosanquet, in Aspects of the Social Problem. 

2 Art, " Psychology" in Encyclopcvdia Britaunica, p. 42. 



88 



ETHICS. 



[BK. L, CH. III. 



is physically the same is in such cases, to all intents, 
a different circumstance. 

§ 5. Habit. — The significance of Habit has already 
been to some extent indicated in connection with char- 
acter, and in particular reference has been made to 
Aristotle's view that the main thing in the moral life 
is the establishment of good habits. This view was 
put forward by Aristotle in opposition to the Socratic 
doctrine, that Virtue is a kind of Knowledge ; ^ yet the 
two views are not so much opposed as might at first 
sight appear. Virtue is a kind of knowledge, as well as 
a kind of habit. It is, in fact, as we have already 
indicated, a point of view. The virtuous man is one 
who lives continuously in the universe which is con- 
stituted by duty. To live continuously in that universe 
is a habit ; but it is at the same time a species of 
insight. The man who lives in a different universe 
sees things habitually in a different way — through a 
differently coloured glass, we might say. To be virtu- 
ous, therefore, is to possess habitually a certain kind 
of knowledge or insiofht. And thus both Socrates and 
Aristotle were right. Virtue is both a kind of know- 
ledge and a kind of habit. Habit, in fact, in the sense 
in which the term is applied to moral character, is not 
mere custom. It is not on a level with habits such 
as our manner of walking or speaking or of wearing 
clothes. It is not, in short, of the nature of what is 
commonly called a secondarily automatic action. It 
is a habit of willing. Habits which have a moral signi- 

1 Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 24-5 and 54 ; and, for a fuller 
account of the doctrine of Socrates, see Zeller's Socrates and the So- 
cratic Schools, Part II., chap. vii. 



5-] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



89 



ficance are habits of deliberate choice.^ Now deliber- 
ate choice depends on thought or reason. ^ In order 
to choose the right, in the sense in which such a choice 
has any moral significance, we must know the right. 
If we simply hit on the right course by chance, we do 
not really choose the right. Right willing, therefore, 
depends on true insight. Whether it is possible to 
have true insight without willing rightly is a further 
question, which we shall have to consider shortly. In 
the meantime we may partly see what Socrates meant 
by saying that virtue is a kind of knowledge. It 
depends on the occupation of a certain point of view, 
on the possession of a certain rational insight. At the 
same time, we see the truth of Aristotle's saying that 
virtue is habit. It is not merely a certain act of will, 
but a continuous state of character, a steadfast occu- 
pation of a definite universe. 

Another point which it is important to notice in this 
connection is that action which has thus become 
habitual tends to be pleasant. A good character, for 
instance, is one whose dominant interest lies within a 
certain form of moral universe. Such a character will 
find pleasure in acting in accordance with this interest. 
Hence Aristotle says again 3 that a man is not good 
at all unless he takes pleasure in noble deeds. No one 
would call a man just who did not take pleasure in 
doing justice, nor generous, who took no pleasure in 
acts of generosity, and so on.'' Further, habit, as is 
said, becomes a second nature ; so that actions that 

I'Eo-Ttf apa 17 aperrj e|t9 TrpoatpeTiKT) ("Virtue, then, is a habit of 
choice ").— Aristotle's Ethics, II. vi. 15. 
2 Cf. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap. ii. 
8 Nicomachean Ethics, I. viii. 12. 



90 



ETHICS. [bK. I., GH. III. 



have become habitual are done almost instinctively, 
at least without the necessity for definite reflection. 
It is important to bear this in mind. Its application 
will become especially apparent when we are dealing 
with some of the theories of Kant. 

§ 6. The Freedom of the Will. — We are now in a 
position to consider what is meant by human freedom, 
in so far as this has ethical significance. 

Some views on this point may almost immediately 
be ruled out of court. Thus, it has been argued that 
there is no real freedom, since men are determined by 
circumstances. This was the doctrine, for instance, of 
Robert Owen, the Socialist. Accordingly, he made 
it his great aim in life to improve men's external con- 
ditions. But we have seen that mere external condi- 
tions are not circumstances in any sense that is ethically 
important. Before setting ourselves to improve men's 
conditions, we should ask ourselves how far their con- 
ditions are real circumstances to them, and what sort 
of circumstances they are. To ask this is at the same 
time to ask what sort of people they are. It is a com- 
plete mistake to suppose that men are determined 
by conditions that are in any true sense external to 
them. 

Again, freedom is sometimes understood to mean 
the power of acting without motives. But this also is 
an absurdity. To act without motives, z. e. without 
reference to anything that may reasonably serve as an 
inducement to action, would be to act from blind im- 
pulse, as some of the lower animals may be supposed 
to do. But this is evidently the very reverse of what 
we understand by freedom. 

In order to avoid such crude misconceptions as 



§7.] 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



91 



these, it is important to consider in what sense the 
idea of freedom is ethically significant. 

§ 7. Freedom essential to Morals. — There is involved 
in the moral consciousness the conviction that we 
ought to act in one way rather than in another, that 
one manner of action is good or right, and another 
bad or evil. Now, as Kant urged, there would be no 
meaning in an "ought" if it w^ere not accompanied by 
a ' ' can. " ' It does not follow, however, that the ' ' can " 
refers to an immediate possibility. A man ought to be 
wise, for instance ; but wisdom is a quality that can 
only be gradually developed. What can be done at 
once is only to put ourselves in the way of acquiring 
it. Similarly, we ought to love our neighbours. But 
love is a feeling that cannot be produced at will.^ We 
can only put ourselves in the way of cultivating kindly 
affections. But it would be absurd to say that a man 
ought to add a cubit to his stature or to live for two 
hundred years. He cannot even put himself in the 
way of attaining these ends, and they cannot therefore 
form any part of his duty. Now if a man's will were 
absolutely determined by his circumstances, it would 
be strictly impossible for him to become anything but 

1 Cf. the lines of Emerson— 

" So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
So near is God to man, 
When Duty whispers low, Thott must, 
The youth replies, / can." 

2 For this reason Kant even denies that love is a duty. See M eta- 
physic of Morals, section I. (Abbott's translation, pp. 15-16). But love 
can be cultivated, though it cannot be directly produced. Kant's 
view on this and kindred points is due to the absolute antithesis 
which he makes between Reason and Feeling. Cf. Caird's Critical 
Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii. pp. 280282. See also below, Book II,, 
chap, iii., § 13. 



92 



ETHICS. [lK. I., CH. III. 



that which he does become, and consequently it would 
be impossible that he ought to be anything different. 
There would thus be no ''ought "at all. Moral im- 
peratives would cease to have any meaning.^ If, then, 
there is to be any meaning in the moral imperative, 
the will must not be absolutely determined by circum- 
stances, but must in some sense be free. This is true 
also even if we do not, like Kant, think of the moral 
end as of the nature of an imperative, but rather as a 
Good or Ideal to be attained. ^ It still remains true 
that such an ideal must be, as Aristotle put it, Tzpaxrov xai 
xTTiTu^^ w^OpwTzoj (practicable and attainable by man). 

§ 8. Necessity essential to Morals. — Nevertheless, 
there is a sense also in which necessity is required for 
the moral life. The moral life consists, as we have 
endeavoured to point out, in the formation of char- 
acter. Now to have a character is to live habitually 
in a certain universe. And in any given universe 
desires have a definite position with reference to one 
another; so that there can be no doubt which is to 
give place to another. Hence the more decidedly a 
character is formed, the more uniform will be its choice 

1 Hence purely determinist writers when they are quite con- 
sistent, deny the existence of any absolute " ought," and regard 
Ethics not as a normative science, but as an ordinary natural 
history science — investigating what men do or tend to do, not what 
they ought to do. This is the view, for instance, which is taken 
by Schopenhauer (who, in spite of his emphasis on the Will, was to 
all intents a pure determinist). Cf. Janet's Theory of Morals, y^. 138. 
Another good example of pure determinism, accompanied by the 
denial of the unity of the self, leading to a natural history view of 
Ethics, will be found in Simmel's Einleitiing in die Moralwissenschaft 
Bentham's attitude to some extent illustrates the same thing. See 
below. Book II., chap, iv., § 5. 

2 See below, Book II„ chap. ii. 



9-] 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



93 



and its action. Nay, even in the case of characters 
that are imperfectly formed, any uncertainty that 
exists with regard to the action is due only to our im- 
perfect knowledge. It is difficult to predict what will 
be done by a man who is continually shifting from one 
universe to another. But his action would be fully 
foreseen by any one who knew exactly the relation in 
which these universes stand to one another in his 
mental life. And not only is this true as a fact with 
regard to the moral lives of men, but it must be true if 
the moral life is to have any meaning. The moral 
life means the building up of character, i. e. it means 
the forming of definite habits of action. And if a 
habit of action be definite, it is uniform and predict- 
able. Now necessity is often understood to mean 
nothing more than uniformity. In this sense, then, 
necessity is required for the moral life. 

§ 9. The true Sense of Freedom. — It is apt to seem 
as if there were a certain contradiction between these 
two demands of the moral life. But there is no con- 
tradiction when we observe precisely what is the 
nature of the freedom and what is the nature of the 
necessity that is demanded. The necessity means 
simply the uniform activity of a given character. The 
freedom, on the other hand, means simply the absence 
of determination by anything outside the character 
itself A vicious man in a sense can, and in a sense 
cannot, do a good action. He cannot, in the sense 
that a good action does not issue from such a char- 
acter as his. A corrupt tree cannot bring forth good 
fruit. But he can do the action, in the sense that there 
is nothing to prevent him except his character — i, e. 
except himself. Now a man cannot stand outside of 



94 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III. 



himself, and regard a defect in his own character as 
something by which his action is hindered. If he can, 
hut for himself, he can in the only sense that is required 
for morality. To be free means that one is determined 
by nothing but oneself.' What this means, how- 
ever, we must endeavour to explain somewhat more 
fully. 

§ 10. Animal Spontaneity. — Consider in what sense 
an animal is free. As compared with a plant or a 
stone, it evidently has a certain spontaneity. It is not 
moved from without, as a stone seems to be, but con- 
ducts itself in accordance with its own inner feelings. 
It should be observed, however, that even a stone iB 
not moved entirely from without. No rock was ever 
thrown to the ground without its own consent. What 
we call the laws of nature in obedience to which stones 
are raised or throw^n down, are laws of the stone's 
nature as well as of things outside of it. The hyssop 
grows in the wall, because the whole universe cannot 
prevent it from growing. ''^ This is as true as to say 
that it grows there because the whole universe makes 
it grow. The law is within it quite as truly as it is 
without it. In this sense Hegel was no doubt right in 
saying thaMhe planets run round the sun freely like 
the immortal gods. '^The sun attracts them/' it is 

1 Those writers who insist on the fact that there is determination 
or law in all our actions, and who on this ground deny freedom, are 
commonly known as Necessarians or Determinists. On the other 
hand, those who insist on liberty to such an extent as to deny all 
law or determination in human conduct, are called Libertarians or 
Indeterminists. It is now generally recognised that these two 
schools of writers simply represent opposite sides of the same truth, 
and that the idea of self-determination combines the two sides. 

2 Carlyle, I think, says this ; I do not remember where. 



CHARACTER AXD CONDUCT. 



95 



said. But the sun could not attract them unless they 
were willing to be attracted — i, e. unless it lay in their 
own nature to be attracted. Still, we do not usually 
think of the planets, or of inanimate nature generally, 
as having any spontaneity in its motions. And rightly. 
The movements of the planets are not determined by 
themselves ; for they have no selves. The law is as 
truly within them as without them ; but it is also as 
truly without them as within them. It is, as we say, 
a 'Maw of nature'' generally, and does not belong to 
any one thing in particular. There is no centre to 
which the movement can strictly be referred. In the 
case of an animal it is different. Here there is a self, 
there is a centre of reference — viz, the consciousness 
of the animal itself. It is from that point that the 
movement proceeds, and we say therefore that it is 
spontaneous. 

§ 11. Human Liberty. — Yet a mere animal has not a 
self in the full sense of the term. Its self is simply the 
feeling of the moment. It has not a definite universe 
of reference. A man's self, on the other hand, is the 
universe in which he habitually lives. For this reason, 
a man is free in a sense in which an animal is not free. 
If an animal could be supposed to think and speak, it 
could not refer its actions to itself, but only to its im- 
pulse at this or that moment. ' No doubt, there would 
be a certain continuity and predictability in its im- 
pulses ; yet at each moment they would have a certain 

1 Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 158-9. An animal which 
does not have the power of proposing ends to itself is impelled to 
action by its wants and appetites just as they come into conscious- 
ness. It is irritated into acting." See also Gizycki's IntrodiMon to 
the Sturdy of Ethics^ chap, vi, 



96 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. III. 



independence, and would not refer to a common centre. 
This, of course, means simply that the animal does not 
think, and consequently does not bring the moments 
of its consciousness to a unity. Man, on the other 
hand, lives within the universe of his character. In 
so far as his momentary impulses do not reflect and 
reveal that character, he does not regard them as, 
strictly speaking, his own. His acts are his own only 
when he is hwisel/in doing them — z*. e. when they flow 
from the centre of his habitual universe. He has thus 
a centre of action which has a certain relative perma- 
nence ; and for this reason his acts are free in a sense 
in which the movements of a mere animal, though 
spontaneous, are not free.' 

§ 12. The Highest Freedom. — We see, then, that 
there are higher and lower senses of freedom. Even 
a stone is not simply determined from without. An 
animal has spontaneity. But man has freedom in a 
higher sense than either of these. This fact naturally 
suggests the inquiry whether the ordinary freedom of 

1 Those writers who have insisted on determination, to the exclu- 
sion of freedom, have generally also denied the unity of the indivi- 
dual self or character. Thus Hume (who may be regarded as the 
founder of the determinist school in modern times) says {Treatise on 
Human Nature, Book I., Part IV., section vi.) : "When I enter most 
intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some par- 
ticular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or 
hatred, pain or pleasure" ; and he consequently concludes that the 
self or personality is "nothing but a bundle or collection of differ- 
ent perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable 
rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement." Mill also ac- 
cepted this view. See his Examination of Sir W. Hamilton, chap. xii. 
For criticisms of it, see Green's edition of Hume, vol. i., Introd., 
§ 342, and Dr. Ward's article on " Psychology " in the Encyclopcedia 
Britannica, p. 39. 



§ 12.] CHARACTER AXD CONDUCT. 



97 



a man is freedom in the highest sense, or whether 
there is the possibility of a freedom of a still higher 
kind. 

The answer seems clearly to be that there is a freedom 
of a still higher kind. This follows at once from the 
fact that there is a self oi a still higher kind. This is a 
point which we shall have to consider more fully in 
the sequel. In the meantime, we may anticipate so 
far as to say that, in a certain sense, no form of self 
can be regarded as ultimately real except the rational 
self. If this is so, the only true or ultimate freedom 
will be the freedom that consists in acting from this 
self as a centre. This is recognised even in ordinary 
language. The man who acts irrationally is said to 
be enslaved by his passions. " He is thus not thor- 
oughly free. And indeed, there are times when a 
man feels that his irrational, acts are not, strictly 
speaking, his own. His true self lies deeper. This 
seems to have been felt by the writer of the Pauline 
Epistles, when he referred his shortcomings not to him- 
self, but to ''sin that dwelleth in me." Here he iden- 
tifies himself with the higher or rational self. Yet in 
another passage he seems to identify himself rather 
with the lower self, when he says, ''It is no longer I 
that live, but Christ that liveth in me." Here "I" 
refers to the lower self — the habitual character of the 
individual — while the higher or true self is referred to 
as " Christ," living in him and gradually coming to 
complete realisation. There are, in fact, we may say, 
three selves in every man. There is the self that is 
revealed in occasional impulses which we cannot quite 
subdue, the "sin " that, after all, dwelleth in us. On 

the other hand, there is the permanent character, the 
Eth. 7 



98 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III. 



universe in which we habitually live. ' And finally there 
is the true or rational self, in which alone we feel that 
we can rest with satisfaction — the ''Christ" (to adopt 
the Pauline metaphor) that liveth in us, and in whom 
we hope more and more to abide. And, as it is said 
again, ''his service is perfect freedom." It may, 
in a certain sense, be maintained that there is no 
other perfect freedom. The only ultimate self is the 
rational self; and the only ultimate freedom is the free- 
dom that we have when we are rational. This, how- 
ever, is a point that cannot be fully understood until 
we have considered the nature of the moral ideal. 

The significance of all this may perhaps become 
more apparent as we proceed. In the meantime we 
may now sum up the results at which we have arrived 
with respect to the nature of Conduct or Voluntary 
Action. 

§ 13. The Nature of Voluntary Action. — A definite 
illustration may perhaps help to make the nature of 
the various elements in voluntary action clear to us. 

Take the case of the desire of food. The first ele- 
ment involved in this is the mere animal appetite. This 
we may suppose to be at first a mere blind impulse 
analogous to the organic impulse by which a flower 
turns to the light ; but it is distinguished from such a 
vegetable impulse by the presence of consciousness. 
In this consciousness there are two main elements — 

1 Even this may not be quite simple. " Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach ! 
in dieser Brust," said Faust (" Two souls, alas ! live in this breast of 
mine") ; and the same could, in some degree, be said by most men. 
" I am double," said Renan ; " sometimes one part of myself laughs, 
while the other cries." In cases of madness, the two selves often 
become very distinctly separated. 



§ 13.] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



99 



the ideal presentation, in vague outline,^ of the object 
striven towards, and a feeling of pleasure and pain, 
The latter feeling is twofold : there is a sense of plea- 
sure in the anticipated satisfaction, and a sense of un- 
easiness connected with the consciousness of its ab- 
sence. Thus in the appetite of hunger there is a pecu- 
liar craving, partly pleasant and partly uneasy, accom- 
panied by a more or less vague consciousness of the 
kind of object that would yield satisfaction. ^ Desire is 
distinguished from mere appetite by the definite pre- 
sence of a consciousness of the object as an end to be 
aimed at. The appetite of hunger involves a vague 
uneasiness, a vague consciousness of the kind of object 
that would remove the uneasiness, a vague anticipation 
of pleasure in its attainment. Desire of food, on the 
other hand, is a definite presentation of the idea of food 
as an end to be sought. In this presentation, as in the 
more vague presentation of the object in appetite, there 
is also involved an element of pleasure and pain. The 
object thus definitely presented as an end in desire is 
what is most properly understood by a motive. Such 
motives may conflict : the ends involved may be in- 
compatible with one another. Hence the desires gov- 
erned by these motives may remain in abeyance. The 
object presented as a desirable end may not be defi- 
nitely chosen as an end — i. e. it may not become a 
wish, A wish is a desire selected. It is a desire on 
which attention has been concentrated, and which has 
thus secured a certain dominance in our consciousness. 
The wish for food is more than the mere desire for food. 
It is a concentrated desire. But even this is still not an 

^ It is open to doubt whether this element is present in the animal 
consciousness at all. Cf, above, chap, i., § 3. 



lOO 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III. 



act of will. An act of will involves, besides, a definite 
purpose or intentio7i ; L e. in an act of will we do not 
merely concentrate our attention on an end as a good 
to be sought ; but, in addition, we regard it as an end 
to be brought about by us. The purpose of procuring 
food — the intention, for instance, of working for a 
livelihood — is more than the mere wish for food, more 
than a mere prayer or aspiration. Will, however, in- 
volves, further, an actual energising. A purpose or 
intention refers to the future, and may not be carried 
out. In an act of will the idea becomes a force. How 
this is done is a difficult question to answer ; and, hap- 
pily, it is not a problem that we require here to solve. 
We have merely to notice this element of active energis- 
ing as involved in an Act of Will. The man who wills 
to procure food does not merely intend to work, but 
actually does exert himself. Finally, character is a 
formed habit — e. g, the habit of activity in some par- 
ticular industrial pursuit.^ 

1 Mr. Stout's article on Voluntary Action," already referred to, 
should be consulted on several of these points. 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



lOI 



Note on Responsibility. 

In modern times the interest in the question of the Freedom of the 
Will has been stimulated mainly by the desire to have a clear view 
of human responsibility.! The Medieval conceptions of Heaven and 
Hell gave special force to this desire. God was thought of as a 
supreme Judge, standing outside the world, and apportioning infinite 
rewards and punishments in accordance with the lives which men 
had led, or, as some rather thought, in accordance with the beliefs 
which they had entertained. This doctrine presented serious difficul- 
ties. On the one hand, if Liberty of Indifference were asserted, if 
men were supposed to have the power of acting " without motives," 
of choosing a particular line of conduct without reference to their 
characters—/, e. to the universe of desires within which they have 
habitually lived— this appeared to be both unintelligible in itself and 
to involve too strong an assertion of the freedom of a merely created, 
finite, and dependent being. On the other hand, if man were held 
to be free only in the sense that he is self-determined, it appeared 
as if he could not be regarded as ultimately responsible for the build- 
ing up of his own character, for the selection of the universe within 
which he was to live. This difficulty was felt as early as the time 
of St. Paul ; and the only solution of it seems to lie in the acknowl- 
edgment that it is a mystery. Credo quia absurduni. 

A similar difficulty, however, comes up even at the present time 
with reference to the responsibility of the individual to society. 
How, it is asked, can any one be regarded as responsible for the 
formation of his own character, seeing that he is born with particular 
inherited aptitudes and tendencies, and that the wiiole development 
of his life is determined by the moral atmosphere in which he is 
placed ? In a sense we choose our own universes ; but the "we," 
the self that chooses, is not an undetermined existence. We are 
ushered into the world with a certain predisposition to good or to 
evil in particular directions. Over this " original sin," or original 
virtue, which lies in our disposition from the first, we have no con- 
trol. It is ourselves ; it constitutes the particular nature which we 
inherit ; and the directions in which it moves us depend on the cir- 
cum.stances in which we grow up. How, then, is society entitled to 
punish us for our offences ? Even so firm an upholder of personal 
independence, and so stern an advocate of the punishment of crime, 
as Thomas Carlyle, admitted, and even insisted, that a man's char- 



1 Cf. below. Book III., chap, vi., § 7, 



102 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III. 



acter is an inheritance, and that the development of it is affected by 
bodily qualities. Thus, notwithstanding his strenuous insistence on 
the doctrine that every man is the shaper of his own destiny, we 
find him, in his Essay on Sir Walter Scott, making this candid admis- 
sion : " Disease, which is but superficial, and issues in outer lameness, 
does not cloud the young existence ; rather forwards it towards the 
expansion it is fitted for. The miserable disease had been one of the 
internal nobler parts, marring the general organisation ; under which 
no Walter Scott could have been forwarded, or with all his other 
endowments could have been producible or possible." What, then, 
becomes of responsibility ? Have we not here a puzzle or antinomy 
as real as that with which the Mediaeval Theology was perplexed ? 

But the answer to this has been partly seen already. If a man were 
a mere animal, the only reasonable course would be to take him as 
we find him. In that case, the only justification of punishment i 
would be found in the hope of effecting, by means of it, some im- 
provement in the disposition of him who is punished. But a man 
cannot regard himself as a mere animal, nor can a society of men 
regard its members as simply animals. They must be regarded as 
beings animated by an ideal, which they are bound to aim at realis- 
ing, and which they can realise as soon as they become aware of 
the obligation. No man could regard it as an excuse for his evil 
conduct, that he is a mere brute beast, who knows no better. Nor 
could a society accept this as an excuse for any of its members. 
Whether a God, sitting outside as an external Judge, ought not to 
accept it as an excuse, is quite another question, with which we have 
here no concern. Our question is merely with regard to the way in 
which a man or a society of men must judge human conduct. And, 
from this point of view, it is quite sufficient to say that men must 
regard themselves and others as soldiers of the ideal ; that those 
who fail to struggle for it must be treated as deserters, and those 
v.^ho deny its authority as guilty of Use majestS against the dignity 
of human nature. There is no stone wall in the way of a man's 
moral progress. There is only himself. And he cannot accept him- 
self as a mere fact, but only as a fact ruled by an ideal. 

I cannot hope that such remarks as these will remove all difficul- 
ties from the mind of the student. The question, however, when 
pressed beyond a certain point, begins to be rather of metaphysical 
and theological than of strictly ethical importance.^ 



1 See below, Book HI., chap, vi., § 6. 

2 A complete discussion of this difficult question would evidently 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



103 



carry us far beyond the limits of such a handbook as the present I 
have touched upon it here only so far as seemed necessary to bring 
out its bearing upon Ethics. For fuller discussion the reader may 
be referred to Green's Prolegomena to Elhics, Book II., chap, i.. 
Green's Collected JVorks, pp. 308 — 333, Bradley's Ethical Studies, 
Essay I., Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap, v., Caird's 
Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book II., chap, iii., Martineau's Study of 
Religion, Book III., chap, ii., Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, 
PP- 33^ — 34^* Gizycki's Introduction to the Study of Ethics, chap, vi., 
Stephen's Science of Ethics, pp. 278—293, and Seth's Study of Ethical 
Principles, Part III., chap. i. Cf also Dewey's Outliiics of Etliies, 
Part I., chap, iii., Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 50—54, Lotze's 
Practical Philosophy, chap, iii., and Calderwood's Handbook of Moral 
Philosophy, Part II., chaps, iii. and iv. The views of Green, Bradle}^ 
Caird, Alexander, Gizycki, Dewey, and Muirhead are in the main in 
agreement with that here stated. Lotze, Martineau, Calderwood, 
and Seth defend freedom, though generally rejecting Liberty of In- 
difference in its most extreme form. Sidgwick takes up a neutral 
position. Stephen is a Determinist, and does not fully recognise the 
fact of self-determination. The same remark applies on the whole 
to the excellent discussion of Freedom in Simmel's recent Einleitung 
in die Moralwissenschaft, Vol. II., chap. vi. 



104 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. 

§ 1. Introductory Statement. Conduct, like other 
aspects of human life, undergoes a steady process of 
development, both in the individual and in the race. 
This development is closely connected with the gen- 
eral development of the forms and customs of 
social life, and thus forms part of the material which 
it is the business of the young science of Sociology to 
investigate. 

Recent writers on Sociology have tended to lay a 
good deal of emphasis on the class of phenomena 
described by the terms Imitation and Suggestion, as 
throwing light on the development of social customs.' 
These conceptions are probably inadequate in dealing 
with the higher elements in social development ; but 
they do seem to be of value in dealing with the 
more primitive facts of human and animal life, and 
they may thus serve as a convenient point of de- 
parture. 

It seems to be a general truth in Psychology that 
every presentation involving the idea of movement 
brings with it a more or less definite suggestion " of 
the movement involved — i. e, gives rise to a certain 
tendency to perform the movement. This is es- 

1 French writers in particular, such as Guyau and Tarde, have 
laid great emphasis on facts of this class. 



§ 2.] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. I05 

pecially true when the movement conveyed to an 
animal being in idea is one for the performance of 
which its bodily organs are adapted. It then gives 
rise to movements which may be described as imita- 
tions of the original movement — it being borne in 
mind that they are not to be regarded as conscious im- 
itations, but rather as being of the nature of '^sugges- 
tion." There can be little doubt that the facts of lan- 
guage and other expressive movements are to a large 
extent to be explained in this way ; and so also, in all 
probability, are many of the instinctive actions ^ of the 
lower animals and many of the customs of primitive 
peoples. Some further remarks on this point may 
suffice as an introduction to the subject. 

§ 2, Germs of Conduct in the Lower Animals. — 
Though it is perhaps true that Conduct, in the stricter 
sense of the term, is not to be found at all in the 
actions of the lower animals, yet it is certainly the 
case that we may detect in them the germs of that 
which becomes conduct in man. If animals can 
seldom be credited with any direct consciousness of 
an end, they are at least led by certain natural im- 
pulses to the accomplishment of ends of which they 

1 It is still an undecided question, what exactly should be under- 
stood by instinct ; and any discussion of it would obviously be out of 
place here. Some writers limit the term to forms of activity that 
are innate ; but if Principal Lloyd Morgan is right in thinking that 
nothing is innate in animals except physiological tendencies to cer- 
tain forms of action when an appropriate stimulus is presented, in- 
stinct in the psychological sense would seem, on this interpretation, 
to be reduced to zero. (See his work on Comparative Psychology 
and his more recent book on Habit and Instinct). For our present 
purpose, I prefer to understand the term as including all movements 
that presuppose nothing more {from the psychological point of view) 
than percepts and perceptual images. 



io6 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV. 



are themselves unaware. Like the makers of the 
cathedrals, they ''build better than they know," their 
instincts often carry them more certainly to the 
attainment of the ends of their species than human 
reason guides us. Now the nature of instinct is 
largely involved in obscurity. It seems partly to de- 
pend on hereditary impulses to action under particu- 
lar forms of stimulus ; but to some extent also it 
seems to be acquired in the lifetime of the individual 
animal, and to be developed under the influence of 
suggestion. The young of a species learn by imita- 
tion of the more mature.^ This is especially seen in 

^ Here again the facts of the case are somewhat open to dispute. 
The following extract may be given from Principal Lloyd Morgan, 
who is probably our best authority on such subjects. " If one of a 
group of chicks learn by casual experience, such as I have before 
described, to drink from a tin of w^ater, others will run up and peck 
at the water, and will themselves drink. A hen teaches her little 
ones to pick up grain or other food by pecking on the ground and 
dropping suitable materials before them, the chicks seeming to 
imitate her actions. One may make chicks and young pheasants 
peck by simulating the action of a hen with a pencil-point or pair of 
fine forceps. According to Mr. Peal's statement, before quoted, the 
Assamese find that young jungle pheasants will perish if their peck- 
ing responses are not thus stimulated ; and Prof. Claypole tells me 
that this is also the case with ostriches hatched in an incubator 

It is certainly much easier to bring up young birds 

if older ones are setting an example of eating and drinking ; and 
instinctive actions, such as scratching "the ground, are performed 
earlier if imitation be not excluded A number of sim- 
ilar cases might be given. But what impresses the observer, as he 
watches the early development of a brood of young birds, is the 
presence of an imitative tendency which is exemplified in many 
little ways not easy to describe in detail." (Habit and Instinct, pp. 
166—167). No doubt in all such cases congenital aptitude (and per- 
haps also congenital impulse) is presupposed. How much may 
fairly be ascribed to heredity and how much to suggestion, is a dif- 
ficult problem, with which, happily, we are not here concerned 



§3,] 



THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. 



107 



the case of the more gregarious animals, in which, 
as in the familiar case of sheep, the movements 
of leaders are observed, and in which certain habi- 
tual forms of activity grow up,' almost similar to 
the customary morality of human beings. Some- 
times also penalties seem even to be attached to vio- 
lations of the customs that have grown up within 
the herd. In this we see the germs both of moral 
action and of moral judgment, though it would prob- 
ably be going too far to say that there is anything 
more than the germs of them. 

§ 3. Conduct among Savages. — Among savages also 
the moral consciousness is largely still in germ. 
Their actions are to a great extent impulsive, and 
show little sign of forethought with regard to distant 
consequences. Yet they are by no means left to the 
guidance of individual caprice. The savage is a 
member of a tribe, and his life is hedged about by 
customary observances, of which the purpose is not 
always very apparent. In the formation of these, sug- 
gestion and conscious imitation no doubt play a con- 
siderable part ; and even when an end can be de- 
tected, it must not always be assumed that it was 
consciously present to the minds of those who were 
led to adopt the means to its attainment. 

§ 4. The Guidance of Conduct by Custom. — Even 
after mankind have to a considerable extent emerged 
from savagery, the influence of custom in the deter- 

1 How far these grow up in the lifetime of the individual, and 
how far they are a result of imitation, are points still open to dis- 
pute. The action of the queen bee, in killing off her rivals as soon 
as she herself emerges from the cell, would almost seem to imply a 
congenital impulse. 



io8 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV. 



mination of conduct continues for a long time to be 
paramount. The words mores, Sitien, all bear 

evidence to the importance of custom in the formation 
of the morality of nations. In English the word 
manners has become restricted to a much narrower 
and more insignificant sense ; but even now it is 
sometimes capable of being used more widely and 
seriously, as when Wordsworth says, in his sonnet to 
Milton, 

" And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.'* 

At any rate, whatever terms we may use to express 
the fact, there can be no doubt that customary mo- 
rality precedes that which i^ based on law or on 
reflection. 

§ 5. The Guidance of Conduct by Law. — Gradually, 
however, in the life of a people, definite rules of 
action begin to be established. To some extent these 
are simply customary observances made more 
definite ; but generally in the formulation of positive 
laws a certain change gets introduced into the 
previous customs. When, for instance, definite laws 
with reference to criminal actions take the place of 
the primitive custom of revenge, the extent of the 
retaliation is a good deal limited, and a more definite 
conception of justice is introduced. 

§ 6. The Guidance of Conduct by Ideas. — When 
definite laws have been formulated, reflection soon 
begins. Rules almost inevitably conflict both with 
custom and with one another ; and in any case they 
are found too rigid for the guidance of conduct. Ex- 
ceptional circumstances arise, and men are led to 
reflect on the principles that underlie the rules, in order 



§ 7,] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. IO9 

to see how they ought to be modified under the stress 
of special difficulties. Such reflection leads to a gradual 
supersession of the letter of the law in favour of its 
underlying spirit. Men learn to guide themselves by 
principle instead of by rule, i, e. by consideration of the 
most important aims that they have in view, and the 
means that are best adapted to their realisation. When 
this stage is reached, we have passed almost entirely 
beyond the region of suggestion and imitation. Re- 
flective morality is substituted for customary obser- 
vance. 

§ 7. Action and Reflection. — Of course the part 
played by reflection even in the most fully developed 
forms of morality ought not to be exaggerated. The 
moral life, even in its most developed stages, is not 
passed entirely in cool reflective hours ; and even if 
it were, the complexity of the material would prevent 
its complete saturation by reflective principles. Swift 
decisions have to be made and far-reaching plans 
formed; so that in the actual activities of the concrete 
moral life even the most thoughtful of men live to a 
considerable extent by faith, and do not guide them- 
selves entirely by well developed principles. The 
ideas by which they are guided are partly formed by 
reflection, but partly also they are derived from the 
experience of the individual and partly from the experi- 
ence of the race. Even here, then, imitation and sug- 
gestion are not entirely excluded. There is something 
of the nature of instinct and impulse even in our most 
developed conduct. 

§ 8. Moral Ideas and Ideas about Morality. — This 
leads us to notice an important distinction, on which 
a good deal of emphasis has been laid in recent times 



no 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV. 



— viz, the distinction which has been well expressed by 
Dr. Bosanquet ^ as that between Moral Ideas " and 

Ideas about Morality," or, as it might be put more 
briefly, between Moral Ideas and Ethical Ideas. The 
ideas by which we are guided in our actions may be of 
a more or less reflective character. A man may guide 
himself by the conception of a clearly-defined end, such 
as the attainment of happiness or perfection, and may 
adapt his whole line of conduct to the attainment of this. 
In such a case he is guided by an Ethical Idea or by an 
*^ Idea about Morality," i, e. by an idea formed through 
reflection upon the nature of the moral end. But a 
Moral Idea need not be of this character. A moral 
idea may be got, as it is sometimes put, out of our 

spiritual atmosphere." The idea, for instance, of 
the kind of conduct which fits a ''gentleman" or a 

Christian " is not, as a rule, derived from any definite 
reflection on the nature of the moral end, but is rather 
acquired through tradition and experience. It is im- 
portant, then, to remember that a man may be guided 
by moral ideas though he has never definitely reflected 
upon the nature of morality. It may be added that a 
man may have reflected much, and even deeply, upon 
the nature of morality ; and yet his stock of moral 
ideas may be but small and inefiicient. It is no doubt 
possible to make too much of this distinction ; and 
perhaps Dr. Bosanquet, who is chiefly responsible for 
the clear statement of it, has somew^hat exaggerated the 
antithesis. Every moral idea is capable of reflective 
analysis, and may thus be said to imply an ethical 

1 In an article in The International Journal of Ethics, Vol. I., no. i. 
It has since been reprinted in The Civilization of Christendom^ pp 
160—207, 



§9-] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. Ill 



idea, and, similarly, every ethical idea naturally 
becomes a source of moral ideas. ^ This is a point, 
however, on which we shall have occasion to touch 
more fully when we com.e to deal with the bearing of 
ethical theory on practical conduct. In the meantime 
it may be sufficient to bear in mind this important dis- 
tinction between moral and ethical ideas. 

§ 9. The Development of the ]\Ioral Coxsciousxess. 
— From this brief sketch some general notion may be 
formed of the way in which the moral life develops 
from customary action, founded on suggestion and 
imitation, to the stage of independent reflective choice. 
In order, however, to have a complete view of the 
growth of the moral consciousness, it is necessary to 
take account not only of the way in which conduct is 
developed, but also of the parallel development of the 
judgment that is passed upon conduct. From the 
earliest dawn of what can be described as morality, 
men not only act in particular ways, but also in various 
ways indicate their opinion that particular kinds of 
action are right and others wrong. The two lines of 
development are closely connected, but they are also 
quite distinct ; for it is often but too apparent that men 

1 It would be interesting to inquire how far the moral ideas of the 
modern Christian world are a result of unconscious growth, and 
how far they are due to the reflective analysis of Greek thought— to 
the influence of Plato and Aristotle, the Stoics, &c. Or, again, we 
might ask how far our modern ideas about duties towards animals 
can be traced to the influence of Utilitarianism, and how far they 
are due to a more spontaneous development of moral sentiment 
But such questions would be very difficult to answer. " The wind 
bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but 
canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth." This is on 
the whole still true of a great part of our moral development 



112 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV. 



do not act in the way that they judge to be right, or 
avoid acting in the way that they judge to be wrong. 
Accordingly, it is now necessary that we should take 
account of the other line of development — the growth 
of the moral judgment. 



THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. 



Note on* Sociology. 

The further discussion of the points dealt with in this chapter, 
and to some extent also of those dealt with in the following chapters, 
seems to belong most properlv to Sociology. But this science is in 
a ver3' undeveloped state. The beginnings of it are seen in the 
Politics of Aristotle. In more modern times it owes much to Hobbes, 
Spinoza, Locke, Shaftesbury. Hutcheson, Rousseau, Montesquieu, 
St Simon, Adam Smith, Kant, Fichte, Hegel, and several others. 
But the definite foundation of it must, on the whole, be ascribed to 
Comte. In this countn.' it was brought into prominence by Mr. 
Herbert Spencer's interesting little book on The Study of Sociology. 
The Pnnciples of Sociology, by the same author, have just been com- 
pleted, and constitute the most elaborate contribution to the sub- 
ject in this country. In French, reference may be made to such 
works as De Greef's Introduction h la sociologie, Tarde's Les lots de 
limitation, the writings of Fouillee and Guyau, and many others. 
In German, the most elaborate contribution is Schaffles Bau 
tind Lehen des socialcn Korpers. The works of Simmel (Ucbcf 
sociale Differcnziening and Einleitnng in die Moraluissenschafi j have 
a special interest from the intimate way in which he seeks to con- 
nect Sociology with Ethics. He practically regards Ethics as a de- 
partment of Sociology. Some account and criticism of his views 
will be found in Bougie's recent work on Lcs sciences socialcs en 
AUcmagne. See also Mind, New Series, Vol. I., no. 4, and Vol. III., 
no. 2. Several American writers have also dealt with Sociology, 
notably Mr. Lester F. Ward. Profs. Small and Vincent have written 
An Introduction to the Study of Society, and, more recently, two in- 
teresting handbooks have been written by Profs. Giddings and 
Fairbanks. There is also an American Journal of Sociology, pub- 
lished at Chicago. It thus seems clear that some beginning has 
been made in the study of the science. But it can hardly be said as 
yet that it has any recognized principles or method. The student 
who desires to gain some idea of its present position will probably 
find The Principles of Sociology by Prof. Giddings or An Introduction 
to Sociology by Prof. Fairbanks most helpful. Both contain good 
Bibliographies. The recent article by Dr. Bosanquet on Philosophy 
and Sociology {Mind, January, 1897) will also be found exceedingly 
instructive. 

Eth. 8 



114 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. V. 



CHAPTER V. 

the growth of the moral judgment. 

§ 1. The Earliest Forms of the Moral Judgment. — 
The germs of moral judgment, like the germs of con- 
duct, may be found even among the lower animals. 
Domesticated animals, especially dogs, seem often to 
have a consciousness of having done wrong ; at least 
they seem to be aware when they have rendered them- 
selves liable to punishment. And even wild animals, 
of the more gregarious species, seem to exhibit certain 
rude beginnings of moral judgment. They seem at 
least to exhibit a certain discomfort at the violation of 
a general and settled habit of action, and even in some 
cases, if all tales are true, to inflict punishment on those 
members of the herd that violate its traditions. But 
the severest punishments appear to be inflicted on 
those whose only crime is that of being diseased or 
wounded ; so that their action may perhaps be inter- 
preted, if it is to have a quasi-moral interpretation at 
all,' as an instinctive defence of the herd against any- 
thing that would tend to weaken it, rather than any- 
thing of the nature of a distinctly moral judgment. But 

1 The probability is rather, as Mr. Stout suggests, th'at " the distress 
of the comrade, and especially the smell of blood, rouses blind fury, 
which tends to find a definite channel, and thus vents itself on the 
object which is the centre of attention, i. e., the distressed comrade 
itself. If an enemy is at hand, he will suffer." 



2.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. II5 



among primitive races of mankind also the judgment 
passed on conduct, and expressing itself in reward and 
punishment, seems to mean little more than approbation 
of that which strengthens and disapproval of that which 
weakens the tribe.' The important point to notice, 
however, is that the earliest forms of moral judgment 
involve reference to a tribe or form of society of which 
the individual is but a member. The germ of this is 
no doubt found in the gregarious consciousness of 
animals. 

§ 2. The Tribal Self. — This point was brought out 
in an interesting way by Clifford in his account^ of what 
he described as The Tribal Self.'' Clifford begins by 
saying that the Self means essentially " a sort of centre 
about which our remoter motives revolve, and to which 
they always have regard." It is, in short, a universe 
of reference. ' ^ If we consider now, " he goes on, " the 

1 Something of the same sort may be observed even in more 
developed communities under certain conditions. Thus, in Bryce's 
American Commonwealth (chap. Ixiii.), the following remarks are 
made on some aspects of American political life : " Even city poli- 
ticians must have a moral code and a moral standard. It is not the 
code of an ordinary unprofessional citizen. It does not forbid false- 
hood, or malversation, or ballot stuffing, or 'repeating.' But it 
denounces apathy or covv ardice, disobedience, and, above all, treason 
to the party. Its t3^pical virtue is ' solidity,' unity of heart, mind, 
and effort among the workers, unquestioning loyalty to the party 
ticket. He who takes his own course is a kicker or bolter ; and is 
punished not only sternly but vindictively." Nor is this kind of 
moral standard wholly unknown in English party politics, or in the 
medical profession, or in the working of Trades Unions. But such 
a moral standard in modern times, being as it wxre a standard within 
a standard, is not able wholly to maintain itself against the recog- 
nized moral standard of the people. Even the professional politician 
sometimes finds it necessary " to pander a little to the moral sense 
of the community," (Bryce op. cit., chap. Ixviii.). 

2 Lcctitres and Essays (" On the Scientific Basis of Morals "). 



ii6 



ETHICS. [bk, I., cn. V. 



simpler races of mankind, we shall find not only that 
immediate desires play a far larger part in their lives, 
and so that the conception of self is less used and less 
developed, but also that it is less definite and more 
wide. The savage is not only hurt when anybody 
treads on his foot, but when anybody treads on his 
tribe. He may lose his hut, and his wife, and his op- 
portunities of getting food. In this way, the tribe be- 
comes naturally included in that conception of self 
which renders remote desires possible by making them 
immediate." ''The tribe, qua tribe, has to exist, and 
it can only exist by aid of such an organic artifice as 
the conception of the tribal self in the minds of its 
members. Hence the natural selection of those races 
in which this conception is the most powerful and 
most habitually predominant as a motive over imme- 
diate desires. To such an extent has this proceeded 
that we may fairly doubt whether the selfhood of the 
tribe is not earlier in point of development than that of 
the individual. In the process of time it becomes a 
matter of hereditary transmission, and is thus fixed as 
a specific character in the constitution of social man. 
With the settlement of countries, and the aggregation 
of tribes into nations, it takes a wider and more ab- 
stract form ; and in the highest natures the tribal self is 
incarnate in nothing less than humanity. Short of 
these heights, it places itself in the family and in the 
city. I shall call that quality or disposition of man 
which consists in the supremacy of the family or tribal 
self as a mark of reference for motives by its old name 
Pietyr 

Without absolutely subscribing to everything that is 
stated by Clifford in this connexion, we may at least 



§ 3-] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. II7 



recognise the importance of the point that he here 
seeks to emphasise — viz. the solidarity of the primitive 
moral consciousness. Man does not at first naturally 
think of himself as an independent individual, but 
rather as a part of a system ^ ; and this system may in 
a very real sense be called a ^'self/' since it is the uni- 
verse to which the individual refers the conduct of his 
life. It is here, then, that we find the earliest basis for 
the moral judgment ; and, in stating the manner of its 
formation, it may still be convenient to follow the mode 
of statement given by Clifford. 

§ 3. The Origin of Conscience. — ^'We do not like 
a man," Clifford goes on, whose character is such 
that we may reasonably expect injuries from him. 
This dislike of a man on account of his character is a 
more complex feeling than the mere dislike of separate 
injuries. A cat likes your hand, and your lap, and the 
food you give her; but I do not think she has any 
conception of you. A dog, however, may like jyou 
even when you thrash him, though he does not like 
the thrashing. Now such likes and dislikes may be 
felt by the tribal self. If a man does anything gener- 
ally regarded as good for the tribe, my tribal self may 
say, in the first place, I like that thing that you have 
done. By such common approbation of individual 
acts, the influence of piety as a motive becomes de- 
fined ; and natural selection will in the long run pre- 
serve those tribes which have approved the right 
things ; namely, those things which at that time gave 
the tribe an advantage in the struggle for existence. 

1 It may be noted that the idea of tribal unity generally embodies 
itself in the image of a tribal god ; and the religious bond tends to 
become more and more important in giving unity to the system. 



Ii8 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. V. 



But in the second place, a man may as a rule and con- 
stantly, being actuated by piety, do good things for 
the tribe ; and in that case the tribal self will say, I 
Vikejyou. The feeling expressed by this statement on 
the part of any individual, 'In the name of the tribe, 
I like you,' is what I call approbation. It is the feeling 
produced in pious individuals by that sort of char- 
acter which seems to them beneficial to the com- 
munity/' 

Now suppose," Clifford proceeds, that a man has 
done something obviously harmful to the community. 
Either some immediate desire, or his individual self, 
has for once proved stronger than the tribal self 
When the tribal self wakes up, the man says, ' In the 
name of the tribe, I do not like this thing that I, as an 
individual, have done/ This self-judgment in the name 
of the tribe is called Conscience. If the man goes 
further, and draws from this act and others an infer- 
ence about his own character, he may say, ' In the 
name of the tribe I do not like my individual self 
This is remorse. 

All this ought to present no difficulty to the student 
who has grasped the conception of the different Uni- 
verses within which we live. The Universe, from the 
point of view of which the primitive moral judgment 
is passed, is that described by Clifford as '''the tribal 
self From this point of view the consciousness of 
the primitive savage passes judgment both on himself 
and others as individuals within the tribe. And on the 
whole, actions are judged to be good or bad, and indi- 
viduals to be praiseworthy or blameworthy, according 
as they tend to promote or to impede the existence 
and the welfare of the tribe. 



§ 4-] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. II9 



§ 4. Custom as the Moral Standard. — We must not, 
however, suppose that the procedure of the primitive 
man is quite so self-conscious as Clifford's manner of 
statement might seem to imply. He does not deliberately 
ask himself whether his conduct is or is not of such a 
kind as to promote the welfare of his tribe. Still less 
does he ask such a question with respect to his general 
character or to that of others. What happens is rather, 
as we have already indicated, that customary modes 
of action grow up in the life of a people, that those 
modes of action that are favourable to its welfare tend 
on the whole to be selected and preserved, and that 
those modes of action also tend on the whole to be ap- 
proved. In thus approving, the individual puts him- 
self at the point of view of his tribe, but he does so 
unconsciously ; it does not occur to him that it would 
be possible for him to take up any other point of view. 
Of himself as an independent individual, or of others 
as independent individuals, he has not yet formed any 
clear conception. Hence also it is not quite true to say 
that he passes judgment on his own character or on that 
of others. He hardly thinks of character. He judges 
actions. Even in such a comparatively advanced stage 
of the moral consciousness as that represented in 
Homer, the idea of a general judgment on character 
has scarcely emerged. In the Iliad, as Seeley has re- 
marked, ^ ''the distinction between right and wrong 
is barely recognised, and the division of mankind into 
the good and the bad is not recognised at all. It has 
often been remarked that it contains no villain. The 
reason of this is not that the poet does not represent his 
characters as doing wicked deeds, for, in fact, there is 

1 Eccc Homo, chap. xix. 



I20 



ETHICS. [bK. I., CH. V. 



not one among them who is not capable of deeds the 
most atrocious and shameful. But the poet does not 
regard these deeds with any strong disapprobation, and 
the feeling of moral indignation which has been so 
strong in later poets was in him so feeble that he is 
quite incapable of hating any of his characters for their 
crimes. He can no more conceive the notion of a 
villain than of an habitually virtuous man. The few 
deeds that he recognises as wrong, or at least as strange 
and dangerous — killing a suppliant, or killing a father — 
he, notwithstanding, conceives all persons alike as ca- 
pable of perpetrating under the influence of passion or 
some heaven-sent bewilderment of the understanding." 
In such a state of society there are things which ''one 
does not do," actions which are not customary, but 
there is hardly anything which is regarded with strong 
moral disapprobation. 

§ 5. Positive Law as the Moral Standard. — Gradu- 
ally, however, as we have seen. Law takes the place 
of custom in the control of conduct. Along with this 
there comes a certain change in the moral judgment. 
When ''thou shalt not do " takes the place of "one 
does not do,'' the distinction between right and wrong 
is made more precise ; and a more definite condemna- 
tion attaches to the violation of that which is recog- 
nised as right. In the early stage of customary 
morality, to quote Seeley once more, "men, easily 
tempted into crime, flung off the effects of it as easily. 
Agamemnon, after violating outrageously the right of 
property, has but to say da<ra/jt7yv, ' My mind was be- 
wildered/ and the excuse is sufficient to appease his 
own conscience, and is accepted by the public, and 
even by the injured party himself, who feels himself 



§ 6.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 121 



equally liable to such temporary mental perplexities. " 
" After the introduction of law crime could never again 
be thus lightly expiated and forgotten." By the law 
comes the knowledge of sin. A standard of action is 
set up, which serves to each man both as a rule of life 
for himself and a rule of criticism upon his neighbours. 
Then comes the division of mankind into those who 
habitually conform to this rule and those who violate 
it, into the good and the bad, and feelings soon spring 
up to sanction the classification, feelings of respect for 
the one class and hatred for the other." 

§ 6. The Moral Law. — But so long as the law taken 
as the moral standard is not definitely distinguished 
from the positive law of the land, the moral judgment 
is not yet fully formed. The positive law of a country 
is directed primarily against external acts prejudicial to 
the welfare of society, whereas the moral judgment in 
its fully developed form has reference rather to men's in- 
tentions, motives, and characters, than to their mere 
external performances. Now in the life of a develop- 
ing people this distinction gradually emerges. We see 
it perhaps most clearly in the case of the Jews, when the 
Ten Commandments become definitely distinguished 
from the ceremonial and civil laws of the country. 
These Commandments include the rule, ''Thou shalt 
not covet,'' as well as ''Thou shalt not steal," and 
thus introduce the conception of a judgment to be passed 
on the inner attitude of mind, as well as on the outer 
action. As the moral consciousness develops, this con- 
ception becomes more and more pronounced. 

§ 7. Moral Conflict. — When moral development 
has arrived at such a stage as this, certain conflicts 



122 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. V. 



almost inevitably arise, both in action and in the judg- 
ment that is passed on action. In primitive societies 
each man's duty is comparatively obvious. There is 
little division of labour, and the way in which the 
welfare of the tribe is to be promoted can seldom 
be doubtful. But when law is added to custom, and 
moral law added to positive law, and when at the same 
time a man finds himself occupying- many different 
positions within his society (being, for instance, at once 
father, soldier, j-udge, husbandman, and the like), the 
right thing to do on a given occasion is not always so 
apparent. Law may conflict v\^ith custom, or one law 
with another. The classical instance of such a con- 
flict is found in the Aniigone of Sophocles, where the 
definite law of the state comes into collision with the 
more customary principle of family affection. Anti- 
gone prefers the latter, because it is of immemorial 
antiquity and its origin cannot be traced, whereas the 
law of the state has been made and may be unmade 
again. But the ultimate result of such a conflict is to 
give rise to reflection, and to the search for some 
deeper standard of judgment. 

§ 8. The Individual Conscience as Standard. — Such 
a standard is sometimes sought in an appeal to the 
heart or conscience of the individual. An appeal may 
be made from the outer law of the state to the inner 
voice, or law of the heart. But this is soon found to 
be unsatisfactory, inasmuch as the conflicts found in 
the outer law are in reality repeated in the inner law. 
The heart may attach itself, for instance, to the idea of 
the family, but it may also attach itself to the idea of 
the state ; and devotion, to the one may be incom- 



§ 10.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 123 



patible with devotion to the other. ' We are accord- 
ingly thrown back upon reflective analysis. 

§ 9. The Growth of the Reflective Judgment. — It 
is thus that men are gradually led to ask themselves 
what is the real basis of the moral judgment. This 
question inevitably leads to the attempt to construct 
some sort of scientific ethical system. It may, how- 
ever, for a time stop short of this, and merely lead to 
the formulation of certain fundamental principles, 
without any definite attempt at systematic construc- 
tion. In any case universal principles, applicable to 
all times and peoples become gradually substituted for 
the customs and laws of particular tribes and nations. 

§ 10. Illustrations from Ancient Peoples. — The de- 
velopment of the moral judgment is perhaps most 

1 Cf. the attitude of Blanche in Shakespeare's play of King Jolm^ 
(Act. III., scene i) : — 

" Which is the side that I must go withal ? 
I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
And in their rage, I having hold of both, 
They whirl asunder and dismember me. 
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose ; 
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive ; 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss before the match be played." 

Here the puzzle is — On which side is the self ? On which side is 
the deepest and most abiding interest ? 

Cf. also the attitude of Desdemona in Othello— [Act I., scene 3) :— 

" I do perceive here a divided duty." 

Indeed it is out of such conflict that all the most profoundly tragic 
situations arise. 



124 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. V. 



easily studied in the great nations of antiquity, in 
which there was less interference from without than in 
the case of most modern peoples. 

Among the Jews, for instance, it is easy to trace a 
development from the customary and ceremonial law, 
through the Ten Commandments, to the deeper and 
more inward principles represented by the Psalms and 
the later prophets. The idea of the ^'pure heart" 
gradually substitutes itself for external observances ; 
and, in Christianity, the law is quite definitely super- 
seded by the idea of the inner principle of love. When 
this takes place, the purely national character of the 
Jewish morality is at the same time broken down, and 
it becomes a morality that is applicable to all times and 
peoples. In the case of this line of development, how- 
ever, it is to be noted that every step takes place, as 
it were, by a new enactment. The deeper principle is 
always formulated by the voice of some prophet, speak- 
ing more or less definitely in the name of *'the Lord." 
The idea of a divine law remains fundamental through- 
out. Even when the inner principle of Christianity is 
set against the external rules of the older system, it still 
appears in the form of a definite enactment, a *New 
Commandment.' ''It was said by them of old time. 

. . . . But I say unto you " The appeal is 

still to an authoritative law. 

Among the Greeks the case is very different. Here, 
indeed, we start also from the idea of law, and indeed 
of divine law. But it is a law that is never distinctly 
formulated in a code of commandments ; and the 
process of its development is different. The deeper 
principle is not introduced in the form of a new pro- 
phetic utterance, but in the form of a reflective inter- 



lO.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 12$ 



pretation. Men begin to question the validity of the 
old principles of action, and to ask themselves how 
they are to be justified ; and this soon gives rise to 
reflective systems of Ethics. The growth of these will 
be briefly noticed in the following Book. What it is 
important to observe, however, is that, different as this 
course of development is from that found among the 
Hebrews, it leads, nevertheless, to substantially similar 
results. Here also the growth is one from external ob- 
servances to the idea of action based on principle — from 
the idea of duty done in obedience to the law of the state 
to that of duty done too xaXou hexa, for the sake of the 
beauty or nobility of it. At the same time there is a 
gradual advance from the idea of a kind of life which is 
possible only for the Greek, and not for the Barbarian, 
to the idea (which becomes especially prominent among 
the Stoics) of a kind of life which is simply human, and 
which belongs to all mankind as citizens of the world. 

Among the Romans nothing quite similar can be 
traced. In their later life they were too much influenced 
by Greek thought for anything quite spontaneous to 
arise among themselves. But we see something of 
the same sort in the development of their law. Roman 
law is at first simply Roman, and rests on no definite 
principle. By the help of the stoical philosophy, how- 
ever, they gradually introduced an inner principle into 
it, and in so doing made it cease to be Roman Law, 
and become the Law of the world. 

Thus, these three peoples gradually developed from 
their national institutions a universal religion, a uni- 
versal science, and a universal law, at the same time 
as they substituted an inner principle of action for a 
merely external obedience to their laws. 



126 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. V. 



§ 11. General Nature of Moral Development. — From 
this brief sketch the general nature of the development 
of the moral judgment may be more or less apparent. 
The following features may be specially noted : — ■ 

(1) It develops from customs, through law, to reflec- 
tive principles. 

(2) It develops from the judgment on external acts 
to the judgment on the inner purpose and character. 

(3) It develops from ideas peculiar to the circum- 
stances of particular tribes and nations to ideas that 
have a universal validity. 

Having thus indicated the general nature of the de- 
velopment of the moral judgment, we may now be in 
a position to consider the essential elements involved 
in that judgment in its fully developed form. 



I.] SIG^'IFICA^XE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 12/ 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE SIGNIFICA^XE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 

§ 1. The Nature of the I\Ioral Judgment. — From the 
statements that have now been made, the general na- 
ture of the moral judgment ought to be to a consider- 
able extent apparent ; but there are still some questions 
that it is important to ask with respect to its fully 
developed content and significance. These questions 
will naturally fall under two distinct heads. It is evi- 
dent, in the first place, that the moral judgment is not 
simply of the nature of Avhat is called a judgment in 
Logic. It is not merely a judgment about, but a judg- 
ment upon. It does not merely state the nature of 
some object, but compares it with a standard, and by 
means of this standard pronounces it to be good or evil, 
right or wrong. This is what is meant in saying that 
the moral point of view is normative. Now it follows 
from this that there are two main questions to be asked 
— (i) What is the object upon which judgment is pro- 
nounced.^ — (2) What is the point of view from which 
such a judgment is possible.^ The consideration of 
these questions will naturally lead us up to the consid- 
eration of the precise nature of the standard, which is 
to be the subject of the following book. 

The two questions which we have now to consider 
may be briefly expressed as follows : — (i) What is the 
object of the moral judgment } (2) What is the subject 
of the moral judgment ? 



128 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. VI. 



§ 2. The Object of the Moral Judgment. — In a general 
way the nature of the object upon which the moral 
judgment is passed is clear enough. The object is 
voluntary action. It is with this, as we have seen, 
that Ethics is concerned throughout. It has to do with 
the right direction of the will. The moral judgments 
which we pass are, in like manner, concerned with the 
will. Whatever is not willed, has no moral quality. 
An avalanche rolling down a mountain may devastate 
a village ; a shower may save a nation from famine : 
but we do not judge either the one or the other to be 
morally bad or good. In like manner, we do not pass 
moral judgments on tigers or horses for their ravages 
or for their services, so long as we regard these as 
dictated by mere instinct, without volition. When we 
praise or blame them, we do it under the tacit assump- 
tion that their acts were voluntary. Moral judgments, 
then, are not passed upon all sorts of things, nor even 
upon all sorts of activities, but only upon conduct, 

§ 3. The Good Will. — We are thus led to the famous 
declaration with which Kant opened his great treatise 
on Ethics.^ He begins it by saying that ''there is 
nothing in the world, or even out of it, that can be 
called good without qualification, except a good will." 
The gifts of fortune, he said, and the happiness which 
they bring with them, are to be regarded as good only 
on condition that they are rightly used. Talents and 
w^orldly wisdom are, in like manner, good only when 
they are subordinated to the attainment of high aims. 
These things are only conditionally good. But ^ good 
will is good without condition. It is, as Kap.t §aid, the 
only jewel that shines by its own light. 

1 Metaphysic of Morals^ section 1. 



3-] SIGNIFICA^XE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 1 29 



But in thus commending the good will as supremely 
good, and regarding it as the ultimate object approved 
by the moral judgment, we must be careful to distin- 
guish will from mere wish. ''Hell/' it is said, ''is 
paved with good intentions.'" A good will is not 
merely a. good inteniioii, in the sense in which we dis- 
tinguish an intention from a fully formed purpose/ but 
a deiermined effort to produce a good result — though it 
may be an effort that has still to wait for its appro- 
priate opportunity of issuing in overt action. Such an 
effort is, from a moral point of view, supremely good, 
even if, from some unforeseen contingencies, the good 
result is not itself achieved. A good wish is merely 
the consciousness that the attainment of a certain end 
would give satisfaction : a good will is the identifica- 
tion of oneself with that end. 

But again, when we say that a good will is supremely 
good, even if it fails to achieve a good result, it ought 
not to be supposed that a good will can actually fail to 
issue in a good action — if, at least, it issues in action at 
all.^ Will and act, when there is an act at all, are but the 
inner and outer side of the same phenomenon. A good 
will issues in a good action ; and, conversely, there can 
be no good action without a good will. But an action 
which in itself is good may lead, through the interfer- 
ence of other circumstances, to a bad result; and a bad 
action may lead to a good result. ''The morality of 
an action/' said Dr. Johnson, 3 "depends on the motive 

1 7. the sense in which we distinguish Wish from Will. The 
term " Intention " is here used in a sense somewhat different from 
that explained in Chapter i. of the present Book. 

3 Cf. above, Book I., chap, i., 59. 

« Boswell's Life oj Johnson, Vol. I. 

Eth. 9 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI. 



from which we act. If I fling half-a-crown to a beggar 
with intention to break his head, and he picks it up and 
buys victuals with it, the physical effect is good, but, 
with respect to me^ the action is very wrong." On the 
other hand, an act in itself good may be perverted to 
evil ends. ''You taught me language,'' says Caliban 
to Prospero, ''and my profit on't is, I know how to 
curse.'' He who benefits another may be only nour- 
ishing a snake. What constitutes the goodness of an 
action is the goodness of the intention ; but a good 
intention, though it produces a good action, need not 
produce a good result. A result is generally a resultant 
of several causes, of which the will of any particular 
agent is only one. ^ 

§ 4. Judgment on Act and on Agent. — So far there is 
no difficulty. But it is necessary now to draw a dis- 
tinction between two forms in which the moral judg- 
ment is passed.. We may judge a man's actions, or we 
may judge the man himself It can hardly be doubted 
that both these forms of judgment are to be found even 
at the most developed stage of the moral consciousness 
that has yet been reached. The distinction corresponds, 
in the main, to that between Right and Good. Some 
of a man's actions may be right, and yet we may not 

1 If we took account of all the effects, direct and indirect, of a 
man's actions, we should probably find that the amount of good in 
the result is much more nearly in proportion to the amount of good 
in the intention than is commonly supposed. Green says {Prolego- 
mena to Ethics, p. 320), that " there is no real reason to doubt that 
the good or evil in the motive of an action is exactly measured by 
the good or evil in its consequences." It should be noted that, in 
what is said up to this point, no account is taken of the question, 
afterwards discussed, whether it is strictly on the intention or on the 
motive that the moral judgment is passed. 



§5-] SIGNIFICA^XE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 13I 

judge him to be a good man, and vice versa. We some- 
times, that is to say, judge character, and sometimes 
will in the narrower sense. Now, with respect to the 
judgment on character no particular difficulty seems to 
arise. We judge men's characters by the degree in which 
the total content of their moral consciousness tends 
towards the realisation of the highest end, whatever 
that may be conceived to be. It is not so easy, how- 
ever, to say what it is that we judge when we judge an 
act rather than an agent. We do not judge the act by 
its result, but by the purpose of the agent. On this all 
are agreed. But it remains to be asked whether we 
judge it by the whole intention involved in it, or rather 
by that part of the intention which is described as the 
motive. On this point there is considerable difference 
of opinion, and the question is further complicated by 
a want of uniformity in the interpretation of the terms 
Intention and ^Motive. 

§ 5. Is THE Moral Judgment coxcerxed with ^Motives 
OR with Ixtextioxs ? — The controversy on this subject^ 
has been carried on chiefly between writers of the in- 
tuitional and the utilitarian school.^ The former have 
generally maintained that the moral judgment is con- 
cerned entirely with the motives of our actions, that 
our actions are to be pronounced good or bad in pro- 
portion to the goodness or badness of the motives by 
which we are actuated in doing them. Thus Dr. }tlar- 
tineau, the most eminent of recent intuitionist writers, 

1 This subject is well treated by Prof. Dewey in his Outlines of 
Ethics, pp. 4-6, and more fully in Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 
57-^2. 

2 The nature of these two schools will become apparent in the 
sequel 



132 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH, VI. 



has drawn out an elaborate table of the motives of our 
conduct, and arranged them in order of merit* He 
places reverence at the top, and censoriousness, vin- 
dictiveness, and suspiciousness at the bottom, while 
between these lie a great variety of passions, appetites, 
affections, sentiments, etc. ; such as love of ease, fear, 
ambition, generosity, and compassion. Now to dis- 
cuss the merits of such a scheme as this would evi- 
dently carry us beyond the limits of such a handbook 
as the present. Two criticisms, however, may be 
passed upon it. In the first place, the list of motives, 
or ''springs of action " (as they are also called), seems 
to rest on a false conception of psychological divisions. 
The student of psychology will probably have become 
familiar with this objection. Modern Psychology 
treats the human mind as an organic unity, and repu- 
diates any hard and fast distinctions of faculties, such 
as seem to be implied in Dr. Martineau's list. The 
motives which he enumerates are not simple, but 
highly complex, phenomena ; and their merits in any 
particular case would depend on the way in which 
they are composed. Fear, for instance, is not a simple 
element in consciousness, but a complex state ; and 
its merit or demerit depends on the way in which we 
fear and the thing of which we are afraid. The same 
applies to ambition, and to most of the other motives 
enumerated by Dr. Martineau. But, apart from this, 
the list seems to involve that confusion between the 
different senses of the term '' motive to which refer- 

Types of Ethical Theory, Part II., Book I., chap. vi. A criticism 
of Martineau's doctrine will be found in Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, 
Book III., chap. xii. 



§ 5.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 1 33 



ence has already been made. Thus fear and compas- 
sion, though referring to objects, may be treated as 
emotional states ; whereas ambition does not denote a 
state of feeling, but rather an object aimed at — not in- 
deed a definite object, but a range of objects almost 
infinite in variety (from the desire to be Mayor of a 
town to the desire to be the saviour of one's country), 
having only in common the desire of some form of 
personal eminence. Now mere feelings in the mind, 
such as fear and compassion, do not seem, as I have 
already indicated, to constitute motives at all, in the 
proper sense of the term : they are not inducements 
to action. What induces us to act is the presentation 
of some end to be attained. Consequently, if we are 
to have a list of motives, this list should take the form 
rather of a classification of ends to be attained, than 
of feelings that exist in our minds. Further, these ends 
would have to be arranged, not under any such ab- 
stract headings as ''ambition" and the like, but in 
accordance with their actual, concrete nature. 

The antagonism of the utilitarians seems to be partly 
due to the inadequacy of the intuitionist theory. Thus 
Mill urges ' that ''the morality of an action depends 
entirely upon the intention — that is, upon what the 
agent wills to do. But the motive, that is, the feeling 
which makes him will so to do, when it makes no 
difference in the act, makes none in the morality : 
though it makes a great difference in our moral esti- 
mation of the agent, especially if it indicates a good 
or a bad habitual dispositioii,'' "The motive of an 
action," he says again, * "has nothing to do with the 



1 Utilitarianism f chap, ii., p. 27, note. 



2 Ibid., p. 26. 



134 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI. 



morality of the action, though much with the worth of 
the agent/' The reasonableness of this view is ap- 
parent. If one man is animated by compassion and 
another by fear, we may think the former a more 
amiable man and the latter a more cowardly man : 
but if they are led to act in precisely the same way, 
must not their actions be regarded as equally good or 
bad ? They are not perhaps equally good 77ien ; but 
that is not the question. A good man may do a bad 
action, and a bad man may do a good action. The 
question is simply — Are their actions good or bad } 
How they feel in doing the actions may affect our 
judgment of their characters, of their lives as a whole, 
but not of their particular actions. Of course if their 
actions are differefit in consequence of their feelings — 
if, for instance, the man who feels compassion does 
the act in a more gracious way, and the man who feels 
fear does it in a hurried and awkward way — our moral 
judgment upon the actions will be different. But the 
reason is that in this case the feeling has to some ex- 
tent affected the nature of the act that is willed. This 
is Mill's view ; and it is evidently a reasonable view, 
so far as it goes. Nevertheless, it appears to me to be 
erroneous. 

§ 6. The Moral Judgment is partly concerned with 
Motives. — So long indeed as the reference is merely to 
the feelings by which our actions are accompanied, 
there is no need to dispute Mill's position.' But if we 
understand the motive to mean that which induces us 

1 Of course the nature of our feelings is ultimately determined by 
the nature of the ends that we have in view, and consequently in 
disputing the one position we are in reality disputing the other as 
well. 



§ 6.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 1 35 

to act in a particular way, then I think we must main- 
tain that it is on the motive that the moral judgment 
is passed, or at least that the motive is properly taken 
into account in passing judgment. ^Mill's error seem.s 
to arise from this, that he supposes the moral judgment 
to be passed on things done, whereas the moral judg- 
ment is not properly passed upon a thing done, but 
upon a person doing. If it were not so, we should 
pass moral judgment on the instinctive acts of animals, 
and even on the movements of rocks, clouds, and 
avalanches. What we judge is conduct ; and this 
means not merely an overt act, but the attitude of a 
person in acting ; and his attitude must include his 
motive. Now Mill himself admdts that the motive 
(even in the sense of the mere feeling, and surely 
much more in the sense of the end with reference to 
which we are induced to act) makes a difference in 
our estimation of the agent. It is true, indeed, that in 
passing a moral judgment upon a particular act we 
need not take account of the whole character of the 
man who does it. If a man gets drunk, or tells a lie, 
or defrauds his neighbour, we can say that he has done 
wrong, without needing to inquire whether he is in 
other respects a good man or a bad. But this does 
not imply that we judge his action simply from the 
outside, as a thing done. It is the man doing it that 
we judge ; and the question, what induced him to do 
it, is not irrelevant to this judgment. It may be ad- 
mitted that we frequently omit this inner side of a 
man's conduct in forming our judgments. But the 
reason is, that it is so difficult to ascertain what the 
inner side is. With regard to all men's actions (except 
our own), 



136 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. VI. 



" One point must still be greatly dark, 
The moving why they do it." 

Hence the force of the precept ''judge not ! But in 
so far as we do judge, when we try to be thoroughly- 
just in our moral appreciations, it seems unquestion- 
able that we take account of the motive, and that this 
is what we are bound to take account of. ^ 

It may be objected, of course, that a man's motives 
are sometimes excellent, while yet we feel bound to 
condemn his actions. Some fanatics, for instance, 
have performed acts of the utmost atrocity, ''thinking 
that they did God service.'' Are we to approve these 
actions, it may be asked, because the end aimed at 
was good } In answering this question, we must be 
sure that we understand exactly what the question is. 
Are we to understand that we are asked, whether, in 
the case of such actions, we regard the thing done as 

1 An example may help to make this clear. It has been urged 
that if it is just to put a man to death, this act will not be rendered 
vicious by the mere fact that the execution of it is accompanied by a 
feeling of resentment or malevolence. Certainly, I should answer, 
the mere feeling of resentment will make no difference in the 
morality of the action, any more than a feeling of reluctance or a 
feeling of weariness. But it is otherwise if the gratification of the 
feeling was the motive of the act. If a judge were to condemn a 
criminal to death, not because it is just, but because he feels resent- 
ment, and aims at the gratification of this feeling, then undoubtedly 
his action would be wrong, though the result of it might accidentally 
be right — /. e, it might be the case that the criminal ought to have 
been put to death. Of course in such a case the intention is wrong 
as well as the motive. This is necessarily so ; for the motive is part 
of the intention. In the case supposed, it is part of the judge's in- 
tention (his inner intention, as I have called it) to gratify his feeling 
of resentment. But if this had not been part of his motive, it would 
not have vitiated his action—/, e, if it had not been part of his induce- 
ment 



§ /.] SIGXIFICANXE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I 37 



a desirable result ? If so, our answer would no doubt 
be decidedly, No. In the same way we should say 
that the fall of an avalanche is not a desirable result. 
But in neither case is our judgment a moral judgment 
On the other hand, if we are asked whether we con- 
sider that the fanatics in question acted rightly, then 
we must answer that, in so far as they were aiming 
steadfastly at a definite end, and in so far as that end 
was a good one, we must approve of their actions. As 
a rule, indeed, we shall not entirely approve of them ; 
but the reason is that we do not regard their aims as 
perfectly good. This is implied in calling them fanatics. 
A fanatic is one who pursues some narrow end as if it 
were the supreme good. The motive of such a man is 
not the best possible, and the more conscientiously he 
is guided by that motive the more certainly will his 
actions not be the best possible. 

§ ?♦ But the Judgment is really on Character. — It 
appears from this, however, that it is only in a some- 
what strained sense that the judgment can be said to 
be passed either on the intention or on the motive 
alone. The truth seems to be rather that the fully de- 
veloped moral judgment is always pronounced, directly 
or indirectly, on the character of the agent. That is to 
say, as I have already remarked, it is never simply on 
a thing done, but always on a person doing, that we 
pass moral judgment. It is true that, in some cases, 
we may have regard only to the person as doing this one 
particular action, while in other cases we may think 
of him as having general habits of action. But in all 
cases, when we are passing a strictly moral judgment, 
we think of the action, not as an isolated event, but as 
part of a system of life. We judge its significance not 



138 



ETHICS. 



[BK. I., CH. YI. 



in the abstract, but for the person who does it, situated 
as he happens to be, and viewing the world as he has 
learned to view it. Thus we judge the action to be 
good or evil according to the extent to which the 
various elements in the whole presented content serve 
as inducements to act or to refrain from acting. In 
thus regarding the action, we are judging the whole 
intention, but with reference to the extent to which the 
various elements in it serve, or do not serve, as motives 
to action. We thus judge the motives, both positively 
and negatively, and in so doing judge the whole inten- 
tion. Hence it is somewhat misleading to say simply 
that we pass judgment either on the intention or on 
the motive. ^ 

§ 8. The Subject of the Moral Judgment. — Having 
thus considered the precise nature of the object upon 
which the moral judgment is passed, we must now turn 
our attention to the subject of the moral judgm^ent, 
i. e. to the point of view from which an action is judged 
to be good or bad. In a sense, every man may be 
said to judge his own action to be good at the moment 
when he does it. In deliberately choosing to do it, he 
pronounces it to be the course of action which offers 
most inducement at the time. By what right, then, 
we may ask, does any one else pronounce it to be 
wrong 1 Or, how does it happen that the man him- 
self, on calm reflection, judges his action to fall, short 
of an ideal standard } The answer is that it is looked 

^ For further discussion on this point, the student may be referred 
to Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IL, chap, ii., Book III., chap. 
L, Book IV., chap, i.; Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory, Part II. 
Book I., chap, vi., § 15 ; and International Journal of Ethics, Vol. IV. 
Nqs. I and 2, 



§ 9'] SIGXIFICA^■CE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I 39 



at from a different point of view, regarded withirn a 
different universe or system, from that from which the 
individual was regarding it when he decided to act in 
that particular way. But there are an indefinite number 
of universes within which an action might be placed, 
an indefinite number of points of view from which an 
action or an agent might be judged. What claim has 
any one of these to be regarded as preferable to any 
other } 

Now to give any complete answer to this question 
would involve the discussion of the various theories of 
morals, to which our attention is to be directed in the 
next Book. But, vdthout entering into this discussion 
at present, it may be profitable to notice some ways 
in which the subject of the moral judgment may be 
conceived. 

§ 9. The ]\Ioral Coxxoisseur. — One way in which 
we may help ourselves to understand it is by calling 
to our aid the analogy of the judgments which are 
passed on works of art. We say that a poem or a play 
or a novel is a good or a bad artistic product. In so 
saying, we are passing a judgment upon it, just as we 
do when we say that an action is good or bad. Now 
from what point of view is such a judgment pro- 
nounced.'^ Not, it seems clear, from that of the person 
who happens at the time to be reading or hearing or 
seeing the artistic product, any more than the moral 
judgment is passed from the point of view of the 
individual who is acting. The artist appeals from the 
judgment of the multitude to the judgment of the 
skilled and sympathetic critic.^ Now it may be said 

1 " Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end 

(The thing they gave at Florence— what's its name ?) 



I40 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI. 



that in like manner, when we are dealing with conduct, 
the appeal is to the judgment of the moral connoisseur. 
This is the view of the Moral Sense School, to which 
we shall have occasion to refer in the sequel, and in 
particular of Shaftesbury, its most notable exponent. 
Without discussing the point of view of that School at 
present, it suffices to say here that it hardly seems to 
furnish us with a satisfactory answer to the present 
question. A work of art aims, as we have already 
noted, at the production of a certain result. The skilled 
critic is the only judge whether such a result has been 
achieved. '*We musicians know.'' But in morals, as 
we have seen, it is rather the action than the result 
that is judged. Now this action, if it is a real action 
at all, has been already judged by the person who acts. 
He has deliberately chosen to act in a particular way. 
Yet his action is judged to be wrong, and judged to be 
wrong not merely by the moral connoisseur, but by 
himself when he reflects upon it. 

§ 10. The Impartial Spectator. — A somewhat more 
elaborate theory was put forward by Adam Smith. 
His theory rests upon the fact of sympathy, to which 
reference has already been made. He points out that 
our approval or disapproval of the conduct of others 
depends on the extent to which we are able to sym- 
pathise with them. ''We run/' he says,' ''not only 
to congratulate the successful, but to condole with the 

While the mad houseful's plaudits near out-bang 
His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, 
He looks through all the roaring and the wreaths 
Where sits Rossini patient in his stall." 

Browning — Bishop Bloiigram's Apology, 
1 Theory of the Moral Sentiments, Part I., Sect. I., chap. ii. 



lO.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I4I 



afflicted ; and the pleasure which we find in the con- 
versation of one whom in all the passions of his heart 
we can entirely sympathise with, seems to do more 
than compensate the painfulness of that sorrow with 
which the view of his situation affects us." ''If we 
hear a person loudly lamenting his misfortunes, which, 
however, upon bringing the case home to ourselves, 
we feel can produce no such violent effect upon us, 
we are shocked at his grief ; and, because we cannot 
enter into it, call it pusillanimity and weakness. It 
gives us the spleen, on the other hand, to see another 
too happy, or too much elevated, as we call it, with 
any little piece of good fortune. We are disobliged 
even with his joy ; and, because we cannot go along 
with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put out 
of humour if our companions laugh louder or longer at 
a joke than we think it deserves ; that is, than we feel 
that w^e ourselves could laugh at it. " 

When/' he goes on,' *' the original passions of the 
person principally concerned are in perfect concord 
with the sympathetic emotions of the spectator, they 
necessarily appear to this last just and proper, and 
suitable to their objects ; and, on the contrary, when, 
upon bringing the case home to himself, he finds that 
they do not coincide with what he feels, they neces- 
sarily appear to him unjust and improper, and unsuit- 
able to the causes which excite them. To approve of 
the passions of another, therefore, as suitable to their 
objects, is the same thing as to observe that we entirely 
sympathise with them ; and not to approve of them as 
such, is the same thing as to observe that we do not 
entirely sympathise with them. The man who resents 

1 Ibid.f chap, iii. 



142 



ETHICS. 



[bK. I., CH. VI. 



the injuries that have been done to me, and observes 
that I resent them precisely as he does, necessarily 
approves of my resentment. The man whose sym- 
pathy keeps time to my grief, cannot but admit the 
reasonableness of my sorrow. He who admires the 
same poem, or the same picture, and admires them 
exactly as I do, must surely allow the justness of my 
admiration. He who laughs at the same joke, and 
laughs along w^ith me, cannot well deny the propriety 
of my laughter. On the contrary, the person who, 
upon those different occasions, either feels no such 
emotion as that which I feel, or feels none that bears 
any proportion to mine, cannot avoid disapproving 
my sentiments on account of their dissonance with his 
own. If my animosity goes beyond what the indig- 
nation of my friend can correspond to ; if my grief 
exceeds what his most tender compassion can go 
along with ; if my admiration is either too high or too 
low to tally with his own ; if I laugh loud and heartily 
when he only smiles, or, on the contrary, only smile 
w^hen he laughs loud and heartily ; in all these cases, 
as soon as he comes from considering the object, to 
observe how I am affected by it, according as there is 
more or less disproportion between his sentiments and 
mine, I must incur a greater or less degree of his dis- 
approbation ; and upon all occasions his own senti- 
ments are the standards and measures by which he 
judges of mine." 

It follows from this that our earliest moral judgments 
are passed, not upon ourselves, but upon others. 
''Our first ideas," he says,' of personal beauty and 
deformity, are drawn from the shape and appearance 

^Ibid., Part III., chap. L 



§ 10.] SIGXIFICA^XE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I43 



of others^ not from our own. We soon become sen- 
sible, however, that others exercise the same criticism 
upon us.'"' ''In the same manner our first moral 
criticisms are exercised upon the character and conduct 
of other people ; and we are all very forward to 
observe how each of these affects us. But we soon 
learn that other people are equally frank with regard 
to our own. We become anxious to know how far 
we deserve their censure or applause, and whether to 
them we must necessarily appear those agreeable 
or disagreeable creatures which they represent us. We 
begin, upon this account, to examine our own passions 
and conduct, and to consider how these must appear 
to them, by considering how they would appear to us 
if in their situation. We suppose ourselves the spec- 
tators of our own behaviour, and endeavour to imagine 
what effect it would, in this light, produce upon us. 
This is the only looking-glass by which we can, in 
some measure, with the eyes of other people, scrutinise 
the propriety of our own conduct. If in this view it 
pleases us, we are tolerably satisfied. We can be 
more indifferent about the applause, and, in some 
m.easure, despise the censure of the world ; secure 
that, however misunderstood or misrepresented, we 
are the natural and proper objects of approbation.'' 

''When I endeavour,"' he goes on, "to examine my 
own conduct, when I endeavour to pass sentence upon 
it, and either to approve or condemn it, it is evident 
that, in all such cases, I divide myself, as it were, into 
two persons; and that I, the examiner and judge, re- 
present a different character from that other I, the 
person whose conduct is examined into, and judged of 
The first is the spectator, whose sentiments w^ith regard 



144 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI. 



to my own conduct I endeavour to get into, by placing 
myself in his situation, and by considering how it 
would appear to me, when seen from that particular 
point of view. The second is the agent ; the person 
whom I properly call myself, and of whose conduct, 
under the character of a spectator, I was endeavouring 
to form some opinion. The first is the judge ; the 
second the person judged of. But that the judge 
should, in every respect, be the same with the person 
judged of, is as impossible, as that the cause should, 
in every respect, be the same with the effect.'' 

Adam Smith was thus led to the idea of what he 
called the ''impartial spectator," from whose point of 
view our moral judgments are pronounced. He distin- 
guishes this point of view as that of " the man within," 
whose judgments are opposed to those of the ''man 
without.'' An appeal, he says,' Hes from the opinions 
of mankind " to a much higher tribunal, to the tribunal 
of their own consciences, to that of the supposed im- 
partial and well-informed spectator, to that of the man 
within the breast, the great judge and arbiter of their 
conduct." 

§ 11. The Ideal Self. — How far this conception of 
an "impartial spectator " is valuable, and what exactly 
is to be meant by his "impartiality," we cannot here 
discuss. I have given this reference to Adam Smith 
merely on account of the clearness with which he brings 
out the fact that our moral judgments involve a certain 
reference to a point of view higher than that of the in- 
dividual who acts — an appeal, so to speak, "from 
Philip drunk to Philip sober. " The point of view to 
which an appeal is thus made may perhaps be most 
1 Ibid., Part III., chap. ii. 



§11.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I45 



fittingly described as that of the Ideal Self. At early 
stages of development it corresponds to what Clifford 
described as ''the Tribal Self/' The normal member 
of the tribe ' may be said to be the impartial spectator 
to whose judgment the appeal is made. At more 
advanced stages of human development the nature of 
the Ideal Self becomes more complicated; and we 
cannot discuss it satisfactorily until we have con- 
sidered the significance of the moral standard. In 
the meantime this much seems necessary in order to 
bring out the fact that in the moral judgment there is 
an appeal from the Universe of the individual con- 
sciousness to a higher or more comprehensive system. 
With this in view, we are now able to proceed to the 
consideration of the various theories of the moral 
standard. 

1 This may be compared with the view of the " normal man," 
taken by such a writer as Dr. Simmel. A somewhat similar concep- 
tion is contained in the theory of the standard of moral value, given 
by Meinong in his Psyclwlogisch-ethischc Lntcrsuchungcn zur Werth- 
theorie. 



Eth. 



10 



146 



ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI. 



Note on the Meaning of Conscience. 
Throughout this chapter, as well as some of the preceding, we 
have had frequent occasion to refer to conscience ; and it may be 
well at this point to explain more precisely the sense (or senses) in 
which this term is used. The term is derived from the Latin con- 
scire, to be conscious (of wrong). The Greek <rvvei5Tjo-t9, the 
German Gewissen, and the old English Iiiwit,2iVQ similar in meaning. 
Conscientla used to be employed almost indifferently for conscience 
and for consciousness in general ; and in English, as in French,i the 
term conscience is occasionally found with the latter meaning. It 
is in this sense that Milton says, referring to the loss of his eyes, 
" What supports me dost thou ask ? 
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied 
In liberty's defence, my noble task. 
Of w^hich all Europe rings from side to side." 
But even here there is perhaps a certain implication of a moral 
consciousness ; as there is also in Hamlet's saying, 

"Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all," 
though here it seems to mean little more than reflection. In Chau- 
cer's description of the Prioress, where he says, 

" All was conscience and tender heart," 

it appears almost to mean sensibility. But the definitely moral 
sense soon became established in English, especially under the 
influence of such writers as Butler. Even in the moral sense of the 
term, however, there is some ambiguity. It sometimes means a feel- 
ing'of pleasure or pain, and especially a feeling of pain, accompan}^- 
ing the violation of a recognised principle of duty. At other times 
it means the principle of judgment by which we pronounce one 
action or one kind of action, to be right and another wrong. In the 
latter sense, again, it may refer to this principle of judgment as it 
appears in a particular individual or in a body of men. Such 
phrases as " the Non-Conformist Conscience," " the Conscience of 
Europe," and the like, illustrate this use of the term. We shall have 
to make some further comments on the nature of conscience, espe- 
cially in dealing with the intuitional school of morals and with the 
social nature of the moral consciousness. But this much seemed 
necessary at present by way of general explanation of the use of 
the term. 

1 Malebranche and some other French w^riters use the term con- 
science^ more particularly in the sense of sd^//-consciousness. 



I.] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 147 



BOOK II. 

THEORIES OF THE MORAL STANDARD. 



CHAPTER I. I 

THE DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 

§ 1. Early Greek Ethics. — Thought on Ethics, as 
on most other scientific subjects, first took definite 
shape among the Greeks. ^ Attention, however, was 
not strongly drawn to this subject till a considerable 
time after philosophical thought in general had begun 
to develop. The earliest thinkers among the Greeks 
directed their attention chiefly to physical inquiries — 
especially to the question, What is the world made of? 
Two of the physical philosophers, however, do appear 
to have touched with some definiteness upon the ethical 
problem — viz. Heraclitus and Democritus (sometimes 
known as the ' weeping " and the laughing'' philo- 
sopher). These two may be regarded as the founders of 
those modes of thinking which afterwards developed in- 
to Stoicism and Epicureanism respectively. Heraclitus 
took Fire as his fundamental physical principle — /. e, 
the bright and dry — and he seems to have regarded 
this as incessantly struggling with the dark and moist 
principle which is opposed to it. In the life of man he 

1 For a more detailed account of the way in which this took place, 
reference should be made to Sidgwick's History of Ethics* 



148 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. I. 

appears to have thought that this struggle can be found 
going on ; and the great aim of the moral life is to 
secure the victory for the bright and dry. Keep your 
soul dry/' was with him the fundamental moral law. 
Hence also the saying, so often quoted, that ' ' the dry 
soul [or the 'dry light '] is the best." This opposition 
of the moist and dry — the ''blood and judgment " ^ — 
runs through a very long period of philosophic thought. 
With Democritus, on the other hand, the fundamental 
principle of morals seems to have been pleasure.^ But 
there is no evidence that either of these philosophers 
made any attempt to develop his ethical ideas in a 
systematic form. 

§ 2. The Sophists. — Parmenides and the Pythago- 
reans, and indeed to some extent all the early phi- 
losophers, seem also to have touched, either in a purely 
theoretical or in a more directly practical way, upon the 
ethical and political side of speculation. In fact, from 
quite an early period, philosophy among the Greeks 
seems to have come to mean a way of living as well 
as a w^ay of thinking. 3 But it was that remarkable 
group of teachers known as the Sophists who seem first 
to have brought the ethical problem to the front. The 

1 Blest are those 

Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's fingers 
To play what stop she pleases." 
On the views of Heraclitus, see Burnet's Early Greek Philosophy^ 
pp. 138, 139, 178, 179. 

2 Not, however, sensuous pleasure. It was rather peace or arapa^ia. 
Perhaps his point of view might be compared with that represented, 
in modern times, by Dr. Stanton Coit in a paper in Mind, Old Series, 
Vol. XL, p. 324 sqq. 

3 Thus w^e hear of the " Parmenidean Life," of the Pythagorean 
rules of conduct, &c, C/. Burnet, op, cit^ pp. 29, 40, 182, 316, 



3-] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. I49 



aim of these teachers was to a large extent practical, 
i, e. it was the aim of preparing the young men of 
Athens to be efficient citizens. In instructing them in 
the duties of citizenship, they found it necessary to 
inquire into the basis of political obligation and of social 
morality in general. This seems to have been done by 
them in general in a serious and candid spirit ; but, 
naturally enough, inquiries of this kind tended to be 
somewhat subversive of the older moral standards, and 
the more conservative minds were alarmed. This 
alarm found expression especially in the satirical drama 
of Aristophanes ; and as Plato also shared, to a con- 
siderable extent, the unfavourable view thus taken of the 
tendency of the sophistic teaching, the name of the 
Sophists has fallen into evil odour. Probably this is 
in the main unjust — perhaps in pretty much the same 
way as the criticisms of such men as Carlyle and 
Ruskin on modern science were often unjust. The 
Sophists were probably the most enlightened men of 
their day, and did more than any others to awaken the 
intellectual life of the city. ' 

§ 3. Socrates. — Socrates was closely associated with 
the Sophists, and indeed was regarded by Aristophanes 
as the typical example of them. He was distinguished, 
however, from most of the others by the fact that he 
did not set himself up as a professional teacher, but 
rather regarded himself throughout his life as a student 
of moral science. When commended by the oracle for 
his wisdom, he replied that it consisted only in know- 
ing his own ignorance. By this attitude he displayed, 
perhaps not more modesty (for his modesty was at 

1 Reference may profitably be made to the articles on the " So- 
phists" and " Socrates" in the Encyclopcedia Bntannica, 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. 1. 



least in part ironical), but at least more earnestness 
than his fellow-Sophists. He was less of a dogmatist, 
because he was more clearly aware of the difficulty of 
the problem. The one point on which he was fully 
convinced was the unsatisfactoriness of the commonly 
received explanations of the moral life, and the neces- 
sity for a more scientific account. He believed that 
this was necessary, not merely for the satisfaction of 
speculative curiosity, but for the sake of practical 
morality. For it seemed to him that there could be no 
true morality which did not rest on a scientific basis. 

Virtue," he said, ''is knowledge " (or is science). He 
believed that if any one fully understood the nature of 
the moral end, he could not fail to pursue it. On the 
other hand, he conceived that if any one did not fully 
understand the nature of the moral end, he could not 
be moral except by accident ; and this is not, in the 
full sense, morality at all. Whatever is not of knowl- 
edge is sin.^ As to the nature of the moral end, how- 
ever, Socrates only professed to be an inquirer. The 
view that he suggested seems sometimes to have leaned 
to Hedonism ; ^ but there is no reason to suppose that 
he had explicitly developed any theory on the subject. 
The fact that diverse schools arose, claiming him as 

iThis is perhaps a slight exaggeration. But Socrates, Hke Plato, 
maintained that to be temperate or courageous without knowledge 
is to be temperate by a kind of intemperance or courageous by a 
kind of cowardice. He even went so far as to say that it is better to 
do wrong consciously than unconsciously ; since the former involves 
at least the knowledge of right. Cf. Zeller's Socrates and the Socratic 
Schools, p. 147. 

2 In Plato's Protagoras he is represented as definitely putting for- 
ward such a doctrine ; and there are also indications of the same 
tendency in Xenophon's Memorabilia. 



5-] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 151 



master, seems to afford some evidence that his view 
had not been clearly defined. 

§ 4. The Schools of Ethical Thought. — Immediately 
after the time of Socrates, ethical speculation began to 
run in separate schools, which with variations may be 
said to have lasted even down to our own day. The 
two most distinctly ethical schools, among the fol- 
lowers of Socrates, were those of the Cynics and the 
Cyrenaics, which afterwards gave rise to those of the 
Stoics and Epicureans. The members of these schools 
fixed on points connected with the general char- 
acter and influence of Socrates, almost as much as 
with his speculative activity. The Cynics were struck 
with his independence and freedom from want ; and 
they made this their fundamental principle. The Cy- 
renaics were more impressed by his tact and skill in 
making the most of his surroundings. The Cynics 
were thus led to asceticism, and the Cyrenaics to 
Hedonism. These two tendencies have persisted 
throughout almost the whole course of ethical specula- 
tion. 

§ 5. Plato axd Aristotle. — But in the meantime 
there were other writers who made more definite efforts 
to connect ethical ideas with the general principles of 
philosophy, and so to get beyond the one-sidedness of 
opposing schools. Plato, in particular, put forward a 
metaphysical view of the world, upon which he en- 
deavoured to rest his ethical conceptions. His general 
view is contained in what is known as the theory of 
Ideas or Types. ' He believed that the fundamental 

1 ElSrj. It is difficult to render this in English. The word " idea" 
has come to mean in English ' chiefly through the influence of Locke. 
Berkeley, and Hume) that which exists or goes on in our heads, 



152 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. I. 



reality of things is to be found in the Type to which 
they conform, and to which they are imperfect approx- 
imations. Among these Types he held that the most 
fundamental is the Type or Idea of the Good, and it is 
in approximating to this that the ideal of virtue is to be 
found. To understand this Type it is necessary to go 
through a course of metaphysical training ; and hence 
the highest form of virtue is attainable only by the 
philosopher. Plato, however, recognised also a lower 
form of virtue which can be cultivated by the good 
citizen, and he was accordingly led to analyse the 
virtue of the citizen. Aristotle carried this analysis 
further, and even devoted a considerable part of his 
great work on Ethics to the description of the various 
aspects of the virtuous life as found in the Athenian 
society of his time,' though he agreed with Plato in 
thinking that the highest type of life is to be found in 
the contemplation of the philosopher, rather than in 
the active life of the citizen. The opposition thus in- 
troduced between the life of the philosopher and that 
of the ordinary citizen was further developed by the 
Stoics. They flourished at the time when the Greek 
City State was decaying, and were thus not able, as 
Plato and Aristotle had been, to see in the life of the 
citizen the type of an ideal self-realization. Hence 
they were led to seek for the highest form of human 

Our word " Ideal " comes nearer to the Platonic meaning, provided 
we remember that he understands it to signify, not an unreal 
shadow-picture, but rather the most real of all things, of w^hich the 
existent world is but a shadow (or, as he seems to have generally 
conceived it, a realization in an imperfect medium — the v7roSox>? of 
the Timceus.) Cf. above, p. 28, note, and below, pp. 266-7. 

1 This species of Descriptive Ethics was further developed by 
Theophrastus, the chief of Aristotle's disciples. See his Characters, 



DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 1 53 



life in the perfect independence of the Sage, rather 
than in the activity of the good citizen. A similar ten- 
dency appears in the schools of the Epicureans and 
Sceptics. It was only with the advent of Christianity 
that it again became possible to conceive of an ideal 
kingdom, of which all are members, and in which even 
the humblest citizen may participate by faith, though 
imable to understand with any fulness the nature of the 
unity within which his life is passed. 

§ 6. Medieval Ethics. — Mediaeval ideas on Ethics' 
were much influenced by those of Plato and Aristotle, 
but partly also by those of the Stoics and by concep- 
tions derived from Christianity. The more religious 
aspects of morals were specially developed ; and a good 
deal of attention was also given to the application of 
ethical ideas to the guidance of the individual life. 
Casuistry owed its origin to the efforts that were m.ade 
in the latter direction. 

§ 7. Schools of Ethics in Modern Times. — The de- 
velopment of Ethics in modern times is considerably 
more complex, and we can only indicate some of its 
main lines. Descartes is generally regarded as the 
founder of modern philosophy ; but his interests were 
mainly metaphysical. In Ethics he and his school did 
little more than develop the ideas of the Stoics, to which 
they were specially attracted in consequence of the 
opposition between mind and body involved in their 
metaphysics. In the meantime, however, a more ma- 
terialistic school of thought was growing up, led by 
Gassendi and Hobbes, and the members of this school 
allied themselves rather with the Epicurean school of 

1 These are dealt with pretty fully in Sidgwick's Histojy of Ethics. 



154 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. I. 



ancient times. Gassendi was definitely a disciple of 
Epicurus. Hobbes worked out a more independent 
line, regarding the attainment of power as the great aim 
of human life. Hobbes was opposed by the Cambridge 
Platonists and by Cumberland, who endeavoured to 
bring out the more social, and at the same time the 
more rational, side of human nature. Out of their posi- 
tion was developed what came to be known as the 
Moral Sense School, represented by Shaftesbury and 
Hutcheson. According to these writers we have an 
intuitive perception of the distinction between right 
and wrong, similar to the aesthetic perception of the 
distinction between the beautiful and the ugly ; but at 
the same time this perception is capable of explanation. 
It depends on the social nature of man. What is bene- 
ficial to society strikes one naturally as good ; what 
is harmful is instinctively regarded as bad. This point 
of view forms a sort of watershed, from which several 
streams of tendency in ethical speculation emerge. 
Some writers tended to emphasise exclusively the fact 
that there is an intuitive perception of right and wrong. 
Out of this came the Intuitionist School of Reid and his 
followers. Others were specially struck by the fact 
that the distinction between good and bad rests on a 
reasonable consideration of the results of action. Hence 
arose the rational school, represented by Locke, Clarke, 
Wollaston, &c. This line of thought may be said to 
have culminated in Kant; and, in the works of his 
immediate successors, it gave rise to a point of view 
approximating to those of Plato and Aristotle. This 
view afterwards passed into English thought in the 
school of modern Idealism represented by Green and 
others. Finally, some of those who were impressed 



§ 7-] DEVELOPMEXT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 155 



by the teaching; of the ]\Ioral Sense School were led to 
attach special importance to the fact that the good is 
that which is beneficial to society, or that which pro- 
motes human happiness. From this consideration the 
school of modern Utilitarianism was developed. These 
three schools — the Intuitionist, the Rational,, and the 
Utilitarian, were the main lines of modern ethical 
thought, until the school of the modern Evolutionists 
arose. 



IS6 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. II. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. 

§ 1. General Survey.— We are now able to take ac- 
count of the leading types of ethical thought that have 
occurred throughout the history of speculation. In 
details there is wide diversity, but in their broad out- 
lines the types are few and simple. Two types, in 
particular, come up again and again in the course 
of ethical thought as opposing points of view — the 
types represented by Heraclitus and Democritus, An- 
tisthenes and Aristippus,Zeno and Epicurus, Descartes * 
and Gassendi, Cudworth and Hobbes, Reid and Hume, 
Kant and Bentham. This antithesis may be roughly 
expressed as that between those who lay the emphasis 
on reason and those who lay the emphasis on passion ; 
but, as we go on, we shall have to endeavour to define 
it more precisely. Besides these opposing schools, 
however, we find throughout the course of ethical 
speculation another point of view which may be de- 
scribed as that which lays the emphasis on the concrete 
personality of man, rather than on any such abstract 
quality as reason or passion. This point of view does 
not usually appear in opposition to the other two, but 
rather as a view in which they are reconciled and 
transcended. It appears chiefly in the great specula- 

1 Geulincx and Malebranche represented the more ethical aspect 
of the Cartesian School somewhat more definitely than Descartes 
himself. 



§2.] 



TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. 



tive thinkers who rise above the oppositions of the 
schools — such as Plato and Aristotle, Hegel, and one 
or two others. ^ In recent times, however, it has come 
out more distinctly as one school (or perhaps we should 
say two schools) side by side with the others — the 
school which may be broadly characterized as that of 
development. Besides these main positions there are 
a number of others that are more transitory and less 
recurrent — such as the aesthetic school, represented 
chiefly by the Moral Sense writers and Herbart ; the 
school of sympathy, represented by Adam Smith ; and 
one or two others. 

We must now try to make the main lines of contrast 
a little clearer. 

§ 2. Reason and Passion. — It has already been in- 
dicated that the main line of opposition may be said 
to consist in the antithesis between reason and passion. 
We have seen that the human consciousness may be 
described as a Universe or system, consisting, when 
we regard it from the active point of view, of various 
desires placed within a more or less fully co-ordinated 
group. Now it is possible to direct special attention 
either to the separate desires existing within this whole 
or to the form of unity by which it coheres as a system. 
We may regard human life as essentially a struggle 
between desires seeking gratification, or as the effort 
to bring those desires into subjection to the idea of a 
system. The antithesis between the two schools arises, 

1 Spinoza should on the whole be classed with them. Though a 
Cartesian, he fully recognises the element of truth in the point of 
view of such a writer as Hobbes, and his final view of the highest 
good as being found in the " Intellectual Love of God," is to a 
large extent a reproduction of the teaching of Plato and Aristotle 
wUh regard tg the Speculative Life. 



158 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. II. 



in the main, from the tendency to lay emphasis on one 
or other of these sides. The one tendency is perhaps 
best represented by such a doctrine as that of Hume, 
that ''reason is and must always be the slave of the 
passions,"/, e. that reason can do nothing but guide 
the particular impulses to their gratification. When 
this view is taken, the chief good of life is almost in- 
evitably conceived as consisting simply in the gratifica- 
tion of the particular impulses as they arise. This is 
the view of the Cyrenaics, and, in a modified form, of 
the Hedonists in general. The opposite view is that 
which recognises some law to which the particular 
impulses must be subjected, in order to bring them 
into systematic form. In the history of ethical thought, 
this law has generally been conceived as the law of 
reason, just as the attainment of the end of the parti- 
cular impulses has generally been thought of as plea- 
sure. But Hobbes thought of the end of the desires 
rather as Power than as Pleasure ; and so also there have 
been thinkers who have thought of the law to which 
the impulses are to be subjected in some other form 
than as the law of reason. Hence we are led to state 
the opposition in a slightly different form. 

§ 3. The Right and the Good. — It has been pointed 
out already that there are two main forms in which 
the moral ideal presents itself — as the Right and as the 
Good. We may think of morality as conformity to a 
rule or standard, or as the pursuit of an end. Now the 
distinction between the two opposing schools of Ethics 
connects itself, to a considerable extent, with this dis- 
tinction. It is on the whole true that the line of 
thinkers from Heraclitus, through the Stoics, to Kant, 
think of the supreme standard in morality as some 



4.] 



TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. 



sort of law, rule, or imperative, from which we learn 
what it is right to do ; while the line of thinkers from 
Democritus, through the Epicureans, to Bentham, think 
rather of a Good (generally described as Happiness) at 
which men aim, and by reference to which their actions 
are to be praised or blamed. The two schools may 
thus be roughly characterised as those that take Duty 
and Happiness, respectively, as their standards. 

§ 4. Duty, Happiness, Perfection. — If we describe 
the two opposing theories as those of Duty and Happi- 
ness, the term Perfection may appropriately be used to 
characterise the middle theory, which, to a large extent, 
combines the other two. 

It may be noted that these are not merely three 
different theories of the moral standard, but that differ- 
ent types of life correspond to them. It has been re- 
marked of Kant that his life reminds us of the categor- 
ical imperative of duty," which was for him the kernel 
of morals. ' In like manner the life of Bentham may 

1 Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. I., p. 63. Dr. Caird quotes, 
in this connection, the following humorous account of Kant from 
Heine. " The life of Immanuel Kant is hard to describe : he had 
indeed neither life nor history in the proper sense of the words. He 
lived an abstract, mechanical, old-bachelor existence in a quiet, re- 
mote street of Konigsberg, an old city at the northeastern boundary 
of Germany. I do not believe that the great cathedral clock of 
that city accomplished its day's work in a less passionate and more 
regular way than its countryman, Immanuel Kant. Rising from bed, 
coffee-drinking, writing, lecturing, eating, walking, everything had 
its fixed time ; and the neighbours knew that it must be exactly half- 
past four when they saw Professor Kant in his grey coat with his 
cane in his hand step out of his house door, and move towards the 
little lime-tree avenue, which is called after him the Philosopher's 
Walk. Eight times he walked up and down that walk at every 
season of the year, and when the weather was bad or the grey 
clouds threatened rain, his servant, old Lampe, was seen anxiously 



i6o 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. XL 



be taken as typical of the Hedonistic position — a life 
spent in devotion to the improvement of the mechanical 
conditions of existence, the means of happiness. ' The 
kind of life that corresponds to Perfection would be best 
represented by such men as Plato and Aristotle, or by 
the modern Greek, Goethe. 

To some extent the three great peoples, the Hebrews, 
Romans, and Greeks, might be taken as representing 
these three ideals. With the Hebrews the law of 
righteousness is supreme. The Romans were also 
devoted to law, but in a different sense. The law 
wdiich interested them most was rather that by which 
the mechanical conditions of life are regulated, and 
which provide the material of happiness. The Greeks 
obviously represent the ideal of perfect development of 
personality. 

§ 5. Mixed Theories. — In contrasting these different 

following him with a large umbrella under his arm, like an image of 
Providence." " Strange contrast between the outer life of the man 
and his world-destroying thought. Of a truth, if the citizens of 
Konigsberg had had any inkling of the meaning of that thought, 
they would have shuddered before him as before an executioner. 
But the good people saw nothing in him but a professor of philoso- 
phy, and when he passed at the appointed hour, they gave him 
friendly greetings and set their watches." 

1 Bentham's great interest was legislation. " Bentham," says Sir 
Henry Maine {Early History of Institutions j p. 400), "was in truth 
neither a jurist nor a moralist in the proper sense of the word. He 
theorises not on law but on legislation ; when carefully examined, he 
may be seen to be a legislator even in morals. No doubt his language 
seems sometimes to imply that he is explaining moral phenomena ; in 
reality he wishes to alter or rearrange them according to a working 
rule gathered from his reflections on legislation. This transfer of 
his working rule from legislation to morality seems to me the true 
ground of the criticisms to which Bentham is justly open as an 
analyst of moral facts." On this point, see below, Book II., chap, vi,, 

§4. 



§ 50 TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. l6l 

views of the supreme standard in morals, it should be 
remembered always that many of the theories held by 
the most representative writers cannot be classed 
quite definitely under any one head, but rather re- 
present combinations of the different views. Thus, 
even the Stoics may be said to stand midway between 
the theory of Duty and that of Perfection ; for though 
their ideal may be described as that of obedience to 
law, it is at the same time that of the attainment of the 
life of the perfectly wise man. The same applies to 
the Cartesians and to Kant. Again, in the Moral Sense 
School, the ideas of Duty and Happiness are to a large 
extent combined, as they are also, in a different way, 
in the views of Dr. Sidgwick. The modern Evolution- 
ists, such as Mr. Herbert Spencer, combine the ideas 
of Happiness and Perfection. And in many other 
ways the different theories have been united. But, as 
we are not at present studying the history of ethical 
theory, but only its most typical forms, it is most con- 
venient for us to consider the different views, as far as 
possible, apart. 



Eth. 



II 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. L 



CHAPTER III. 

THE STANDARD AS LAW. 

PART I. : THE GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 

§ 1. Introductory Remarks. — In dealing with the 
different types of ethical theory, it seems most con- 
venient to start with those that take as their funda- 
mental conception the idea of Duty, Right, Law, 
Obligation. To the race, as to the child, morality 
presents itself first in the form of commandments, and 
even in the form of threats. It is only at a later stage 
of development that we learn to regard the moral life 
as a good, and finally as the realisation of our own 
nature. Hence it seems most natural to begin with 
those theories which are based rather on the idea of 
Tightness than on that of the Good. From this point 
of view, morality presents itself as obedience to the 
Law of Duty. The significance of this conception, 
and the different forms which it may take, are what we 
have now to consider. 

§ 2. The Meaning of Law in Ethics. — A good deal 
of confusion has been caused in the study of Ethics, 
as well as in that of some other subjects, by a certain 
ambiguity in the word Law. ^ It is important, there- 
fore, that we should try to understand exactly the 
sense in which it is here to be used. 

It has been customary to distinguish two distinct 

1 Cf, Whately's Logic, p. 209 ; and Welton's Manual of Logic, vol. i., 
p. 8. 



2.] 



GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 



163 



senses in which it may be used. We speak of the laws 
of a country and also of the laws of nature ; but it is 
evident that the kinds of law referred to in these two 
phrases are very different. The laws of a country 
are made by a people or by its rulers ; and, even in the 
case of the Medes and Persians, there is always a 
possibility that they may be changed. There is also 
always a possibility that the inhabitants of the country 
may disobey them ; and, as a general rule^ they have 
no application at all to the inhabitants of other coun- 
tries. The law^s of nature, ' on the other hand, are con- 
stant, inviolable, and all-pervading. There are three 
respects, therefore, in which different kinds of law 
may be distinguished. Some laws are constant : 
others are variable. Some are inviolable : others are 
liable to be disobeyed. Some are universal : others 
have only a limited application. The last of these three 
points, however, is scarcely distinguishable from the 
first : for what is universal is generally also constant 
and necessary, and vice versa. Consequently, it may 
be sufficient for the present to distinguish different kinds 
of laws as (i) changeable or unchangeable, (2) vioiable 
or inviolable — though we shall have to return shortly to 
the third principle of distinction. Adopting these two 
principles, we might evidently have four different 
classes of laws — (i) Those that can be both changed and 
violated, (2) those that can be changed but cannot be 
violated, (3) those that can be violated but cannot be 
changed, (4) those that can neither be changed nor 
violated. 



1 1 mean such laws as those that are stated in treatises on theore- 
tical mechanics. These laws relate to tendencies that are operative 
throughout the whole of nature. See following notCi 



164 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. I. 



Of the first and last of these, illustrations have 
already been given. Of the second also it is not dif- 
ficult to discover examples. The laws of the solar 
system, of day and night, seedtime and harvest, and 
all the vicissitudes of the seasons, are inviolable so 
long as certain conditions last ; but if these conditions 
were changed — say, by the cooling of the sun, by the 
retardation of the earth's velocity, or its collision with 
some comet or erratic meteor — the laws also would 
change with them.^ Again, most of the laws of po- 
litical economy are of this character. They hold good 
of certain types of society, and among men who are 
swayed by certain motives ; and within these limits 
they are inviolable. But change the conditions of 
society, or the characters of the men who compose it, 
and in many cases the laws will break down. Such 
laws are sometimes said to be hypotheiical. They are 
valid only on the supposition that certain conditions 
are present and remain unchanged. Some philoso- 
phers 2 have thought that even the laws of mathematics 
may be of this character — that there might be a world 
in which two and two would be equal to five; and 
that if a triangle were formed with the diameter of the 
earth for its base and one of the fixed stars for its apex, 
its three angles might not be equal to two right angles.^ 
But this appears to be a mistake. The laws of 

1 It might be urged that all laws of nature are of this character, 
/. e. that they are all hypothetical, depending on the continuance of 
the present constitution of the universe. This is true, unless there 
are some laws of such a kind that no system of nature could exist 
without them. The consideration of this question, however, belongs 
to Metaphysics. 

2 E. g. J. S. Mill. 

s This was the opinion of Gauss, for instance. 



§ 2.] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 165 



mathematics belong rather to the last of our four 
classes. 

The laws of Ethics, however, must on the whole be 
regarded as belonging to the third class. They cannot 
be changed, but they may be violated. It is true, as 
has been already stated, that the particular rules of 
morals may vary with different conditions of life ; but 
the broad principles remain always the same, and are 
applicable not only to all kinds of men, but to all 
rational beings. If a spirit were to come among us 
from another world, we might have no knowledge of 
his nature and constitution. We might not know what 
would taste bitter or sweet to him, what he would 
judge to be hard or soft, or how he would be affected by 
heat or sound or colour. But we should know at least 
that for him, as for us, the whole is greater than any 
one of its parts, and every event has a cause ; and that 
he, like us, must not tell lies, and must not wantonly 
destroy life. ' These laws are unchangeable. They 
can, however, be broken. We may, indeed, speak of 
ethical principles which it is impossible to violate. An 
ethical writer, for instance, may insist on the truth that 
every sin brings with it some form of punishment. 
This is a truth from which there is no escape ; but it is 
rather a metaphysical than an ethical truth. It is a 
fact about the constitution of the world, not a moral 
law. A moral law" states something that ought to 
happen, not something that necessarily does happen. 

Moral laws are not the only laws that are of this 

^ Some theological writers have denied this, holding that goodness 
in God may be something entirely different from goodness in man. 
This opinion is ably refuted by Mill in his Examination oj Hamilton^ 
chap. vii. 



ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. III., PT. I. 



character. On the contrary, the laws of every strictly 
normative and of every practical science are essentially 
similar. No one can make the fundamental principles 
of architecture, navigation, or rhetoric, in any way 
different from what they are ; though in practice any 
one who is willing to take the consequences may defy 
them. No doubt the rules of these sciences might 
require modification if they were to be applied to the 
inhabitants of another planet than ours ; and even on 
our own planet they are not absolutely rigid. A style 
of building which is sviitable for Iceland would scarcely 
be adapted for the Tropics. The navigation of the 
Mississippi is different from that of the Atlantic. And 
the oratory which would awake the enthusiasm of an 
Oriental people might move an Anglo-Saxon audience 
only to derision. Still, it is possible in all these 
sciences to lay down broad general laws which shall 
be applicable universally, or at least applicable to all 
conditions under which it is conceivable that we should 
wish to apply them — laws, indeed, from which even the 
particular modifications required in special cases might 
be deduced. For example, we might take it as a prin- 
ciple of rhetoric that if an audience is to be moved to 
the performance of some action or the acceptance of 
some truth to which they may be expected to be disin- 
clined, they ought to be led up to the point by an easy 
transition, from step to step, beginning with some 
things that are obvious and familiar, and in which 
their affections are naturally engaged. From this it 
might be at once inferred that the character of such an 
appeal ought to vary with different audiences, accord- 
ing to the nature of the objects to which their experience 
has accustomed them, to the intensity of the feelings 



3-] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 



167 



which liave connected themselves with these objects, 
and to the average rapidity of their intellects in passing- 
from one point to another. The law is constant : it is 
only the application that varies. The science of logic 
gives us a still more obvious instance of such laws. 
The rules of correct thinking cannot be changed, 
though the particular errors to which men are most 
liable may vary with different objects of study, different 
lanofuaofes, and different habits of mind. In this case 
also, as in Ethics, the laws cannot be changed,^ but 
may be violated.^ 

§ 3. Is, Must be, and Ought to be. — The distinctions 
expressed in the preceding section may be conveniently 
summed up by saying that some laws express what is, 
some what 77iust be (or shall be), and some what ought 

1 It may be urged, no doubt, that some at least of the laws of logic 
are applicable only within certain hypothetical limits. Some of 
them, for instance {viz. those commonly discussed under the head 
of Formal Logic), depend on the admission of the principles of 
identity, contradiction, and excluded middle ; and it may be main- 
tained that there are objects to which these principles are not strictly 
applicable. But this point is too subtle to be more than merely 
hinted at in this place. 

2 This distinction between laws, which can and cannot be violated, 
like other distinctions of the same sort, must be interpreted with 
some care, and not pressed too far. In a sense it is possible to 
violate a natural law, /. e. we can evade the conditions under which 
it holds. In a sense also it is not possible to violate a moral law. 
To act wrongly is, as we shall see, to be in contradiction with our- 
selves ; and " a house which is divided against itself cannot stand." 
Similarly, even the law of a nation, if it is a real law, cannot be 
violated. Punishment may be said to be the open expression of this 
impossibility. The violation recoils upon the perpetrator, and anni- 
hilates him and his act. Cf. below, Book III., chap, vi., § 5. But of 
course all this does not in any way interfere with the relatively 
true distinction between these different classes of law. 



i68 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III.5 PT. I. 



to he^ What we call laws of nature are simply general 
statements about what is. The law of gravitation 
simply states that bodies tend to move in certain ways 
relatively to one another. Even the laws recognised 
in the more abstract sciences are of this character. The 
law of demand and supply simply states that, as a 
general rule, prices tend to adjust themselves in par- 
ticular ways. ^ Laws of nations, on the other hand, 
state what must he, t, e. what is bound to be unless 
certain penalties are incurred. Atoms and prices do 
not and cannot violate their laws, so long as the 
appropriate conditions hold. Their laws are nothing 
but statements of the way in which certain occurrences 
uniformly take place under certain conditions. 
Human beings, on the other hand, may and do violate 

1 It is one of the very few advantages, from a philosophical point 
of view, which the English language possesses over the German, 
that we have the two wwds shall and otig/it, where they have only 
sollen, which corresponds rather more closely to shall than to ought 
Hegel's objection to the use of the word sollen {Logic of Hegel, 
Wallace's Translation, p. 11) seem to be due chiefly to the fact that 
it suggests (i) something future, as opposed to what is actually 
realised, (2) something commanded by an external authority. The 
English word ought seems to be free from both these defects. 

2 It has already been indicated (note to Introduction, chap, i.), 
that there is a sense in which the principles of the more abstract 
sciences may be said to be normative — that theoretical astronomy 
may be said to state the laws according to which the planets ought 
to move, that geometry may be said to state the laws that ought to 
hold in a perfect triangle or circle, and so forth. But " ought " in 
this sense means that these relationships do hold, in so far as the 
appropriate conditions are realised ; and the significance of the 
sciences lies in the fact that, in the concrete world of experience, 
they either do approximately hold, or are determining conditions 
in the actual constitution of things. Truly normative principles 
are not of this nature. If all men were to go mad, the principles 
of correct thinking would still hold as before. 



§ 4-] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 



169 



the laws of their country. But the law states that they 
must not do so, and attaches penalties (or sanctions) 
to the doing of it. A moral law, finally, is a law that 
states that ^omQ.\\v\\\g ought io he. It is the statement 
of an Ideal. Thus, if a Government decides to enter 
upon a war which is known by the citizens to be un- 
just, some of the soldiers may feel that it is wrong* to 
serve, i, e. that it is contrary to their ideal of what is 
right in conduct. Here they come in conflict with 
what they recognise as a moral law. Nevertheless, 
they must not desert ; /. e. they will be shot if they do. 
Here there is a law of the State. Suppose they do 
desert and are shot, they die by a law of nature. 

§ 4. The Categorical Imperative. — We are now in a 
position to understand the important conception which 
was introduced by Kant with reference to the moral 
law. He said that it was of the nature of a categorical 
imperative. The meaning of this may readily be made 
apparent. All laws which are not simply expressions 
of natural uniformities may be said to be of the nature 
of commands. The laws of nations are commands 
issued by the government, with penalties attached to 
the violation of them. Moral laws may also (subject 
to a certain qualification) be said to be commands, 
though we are not yet in a position to consider how 
they are issued. Now commands may be absolute in 
their character, or subject to qualification. The laws 
of a nation are laws that we must obey, unless we 
are prepared to suffer the co7isequences of disobedience. 
Again, the fundamental principles of rhetoric may be 
said to be of the nature of commands or rules ; but the 
commands which are thus laid down are applicable 
only to rhetoricians. The laws of architecture, in like 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. I. 



manner, apply only to those who wish to construct 
stable, commodious, and beautiful buildings. . Some 
of the laws of political economy, again, are neither 
constant nor universal. They are not constant ; for 
they may vary with different conditions of society. 
They are not universal ; for they are applicable only 
to those who wish to produce wealth. Even the laws 
of formal logic are not universal. They apply only 
to those who wish to be self-consistent. ' Now a man 
may reject this aim. He may say, with Emerson, ^ 
''Suppose you should contradict yourself; what then ? 

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, 
adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. 
With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to 
do.'/ 3 Such imperatives as these, therefore, are merely 
hypothetical. 4 They apply only to those who adopt the 

1 1 assume of course here that logic is to be regarded as a norma- 
tive science, laying down the rules of consistent thought. Some 
logicians have treated the subject in a different way, regarding it 
either as an ordinary positive science, or as an art, or as a combina- 
tion of the two. 

2 Essay on " Self-Reliance." 

3 No doubt Emerson is referring here to consistency in action, 
rather than to consistency in thought But the same might be said 
of the latter under certain conditions. " In order to think at all," as 
Mr. Bradley says {Appearance and Reality), "you must subject your- 
self to a standard." Thinking is a game, and " if you sit down to the 
game, there is only one way of playing." So the laws of moral- 
ity may be said to constitute the rules of the game. But the latter 
is a game that we must be always playing. We may take a holiday 
from thinking, and feel or dream instead, and there is nothing in the 
laws of thinking to prevent this. Morality, on the other hand, claims 
a universal jurisdiction. It is not a rule of thought that you must 
always be thinking ; but it is a rule of action that you must always 
be doing what is right in the given conditions. 

4 Such laws as those of political economy are thus hypothetical in 
a double sense — hypothetical with regard to the conditions under 



§ 4.] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. I /I 



end with which the particular normative science is 
concerned. 

The laws of Ethics differ from all other law^s in being 
not hypothetical, but categorical. It is true that Emer- 
son's paradox about consistency has been capped by 
that of the preacher who bade us, ''Be not righteous 
overmuch."^ But if this maxim is to have any 
intelligible meaning, we must understand the term 

righteous " in a somewhat narrow sense. It cannot 
be taken to mean that we should not, to too great an 
extent, do what we ought to do. This would be a 
contradiction in terms. If we are not to be too fana- 
tical in the observance of particular moral rules, it must 
be in deference to other moral rules or principles that 
are of a still higher authority. The supreme moral 
principle, whatever it may be, lays its command upon 
us absolutely, and admits of no question. What we 
ought to do we ought to do. There can be no higher 
lavv^ by which the moral imperative might be set aside. 

There are, indeed, some other laws which might 
seem to be scarcely less absolute, because they relate 
to ends that every one naturally seeks. Thus, every 
one would like to be happy ; and consequently if there 
were any practical science of happiness, every one 
would be bound to follow its laws. Accordingly, Kant 
called such laws assertorial,^ because although they de- 
pend on the hypothesis that we seek for happiness, yet 
it may be at once asserted of every one that he does seek 

which they are applicable, and hypothetical with regard to the end 
with reference to which they are applicable. 

1 Cf. Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 418. " ' Be good if you would 
be happy,' seems to be the verdict even of worldly prudence ; but it 
adds in an emphatic aside, ' Be not too good.*" 

2 Metaphysic of Morals, section 11. 



1/2 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. I, 



this end. Again, intellectual perfection is an end 
which a rational being can hardly help desiring. There 
is probably no one who would not, if he could, have 
the penetration of a Newton, or the grasp of a Shake- 
speare or a Goethe. Hence if there were any science 
that taught how such perfection is to be attained, its 
laws would have at least an almost universal applica- 
tion. Still, even such laws as these are not quite 
parallel to the laws of morals. Their universality, if 
they are universal, depends on the fact that every one 
chooses the end to which they have reference ; whereas 
the laws of morals apply to all men irrespective of their 
choice. If, indeed, happiness could be shown to be 
necessarily bound up with virtue, and unhappiness 
with vice, then the obligation to follow the rules of 
happiness would have the same absoluteness as the 
obligation to obey the moral law ; but only because 
these two things would then be identical. In like 
manner, if we were to accept quite literally the view 
of Carlyle, that all intellectual perfection has a moral 
root, so that a man's virtue is exactly proportional to 
his intelligence, in this case also the laws of intel- 
lectual perfection would become absolute, but only 
because they would become moral. The moral law, 
then, is unique. It is the only categorical imperative.^ 
Up to this point, I have, so far as possible, been 
following the account of Kant. There are, however, 
two points on which some slight criticism, or at least 
caution, seems to be required, (i) It is somewhat 

1 On this subject the student should consult Kant's Metaphysic of 
Morals, section II. The opening paragraphs of Clifford's Essay 
" On the Scientific Basis of Morals ' may also be found suggestive, 
though he does not entirely accept the view indicated above. 



§ 5-] VARIOUS CO^XEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1 73 



misleading to describe the moral law as an impera- 
tive. At least it can only be so described on a certain 
view of its nature, which will have to be further con- 
sidered. To call it an imperative or command is to 
represent it as being" of the nature of a must rather 
than of an ought. It should rather be described as 
based on an ideal. (2) In saying that it is categorical, 
we must remember that all that can at present be seen 
to be categorical is the principle that we must do what 
is right, when we know what it is. It remains to be 
seen whether it is possible to lay down any rule for 
the determination of what is right. If there is any 
such rule, it will be categorical ; but it may turn out 
that there is none. In the latter case, it is somewhat 
misleading to speak of a categorical imperative. 

With these general remarks on the nature of moral 
law, we may now proceed to ask what exactly the 
law is which is thus categorically imposed. 

PART IL: VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF THE MORAL 

LAW. 

§ 5. The Law of the Tribe. — We have already seen 
that the earliest form in which the idea of law pre- 
sents itself is that of the law of the tribe, or of the 
chief of the tribe. ^ But this is soon felt not to be cate- 
gorical. It often comes into conflict with itself ; and 
the reflecting consciousness demands something more 
consistent. At the best it furnishes a must, rather 

1 An illustration of this form of law, in comparatively recent times, 
may be found in the well-known saying of the Highland wife, when 
her husband was at the foot of the gallows, — " Go up, Donald, my 
man ; the Laird bids ye." Contrast this with the attitude of Antigone, 
referred to above, Book I., chap, v., § 7, 



174 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH, III., PT. II. 



than an ought ; and the free man soon rebels against 
such government from without. 

§ 6. The Law of God. — It is a stage higher when 
the moral law is distinguished from the law of the 
land, and regarded as a principle which owes its 
authority, not to any man or body of men, but to God 
or the gods. The best known instance of such a set 
of laws is to be found in the Ten Commandments of 
the Jews. But these also may come into conflict, and 
require qualification. Besides, the moral conscious- 
ness soon begins to ask on what authority the divine 
law rests. If it rest merely on the command of 
powerful supernatural beings, it is still only a must, 
not an ought. If God is not Himself righteous, His 
law cannot be morally binding merely on account of 
His superior power. But to ask whether God is right- 
eous is to ask for a law above that of God Himself, 
and by which God may be judged. Hence the law of 
God cannot be accepted as final. 

§ 7. The Law of Nature. — In order to get over this 
difficulty, the view has sometimes been taken that the 
most fundamental law of all is that which lies in the 
nature of things. In Greek Ethics, in particular, the 
conception of nature {(po<y^^ plays a very prominent 
part. The Greeks understood by nature the essential 
constitution of things underlying their casual appear- 
ances. It was in this sense, for instance, that the 
Stoics used their famous phrase to ^'live according to 
nature " (vivere convenienter naturce). In modern times 
also, especially in the latter part of the seventeenth and 
the greater part of the eighteenth centuries, much was 
m^ade of the idea of natural law. Perhaps in Ethics 
one of the most striking applications of this conception 



/.] VARIOUS CO^XEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 175 



is to be found in the system of Samuel Clarke. Clarke 
held that certain differences and relations between 
things are inherent in their very nature, and that any 
one who observes them in a careful and unprejudiced 
way will become aware of these differences and rela- 
tions. '^The differences, relations, and proportions of 
things both natural and moral, in which all unpreju- 
diced minds thus naturally agree, are certain, unalter- 
able, and real in the things themselves.'' ' To the laws 
of nature thus discovered ''the reason of all men every- 
where naturally and necessarily assents, as all men 
agree in their judgment concerning the whiteness of 
the snow or the brightness of the sun. '"' ^ " That from 
these different relations of different things there neces- 
sarily arises an -agreement or disagreement of some 
things with others, or a fitness or unfitness of the 
application of different things or different relations, is 
likewise as plain as that there is such a thing as pro- 
portion in Geometry or Arithmetic, or uniformity or 
difformity in comparing together the respective figures 
of bodies. "3 Here we have the statement of the cele- 
brated doctrine of ''the fitness of things.'' But in all 
statements of this sort, taken as the basis of moral 
theory, there seems to be an obvious confusion in- 
volved. There are certainly laws in nature ; but these, 
as we have noted, are simply statements of the uni- 
form ways in which things occur ; and such laws are 
exhibited quite as much in what is evil as in what is 
good. The destruction of a building by the explosion 
of a bomb is as much in accordance with the fitness 
of things, as deduced from the laws of nature, as the 

1 Natural Religion, pp. 44-45. 

^ Ibid., p. 66, ^Ibid., p. 29. 



176 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



movements of the planetary system.' Fitness, in 
any sense in which it can serve as the basis of 
moral theories, must be fitness for something — i, e, it 
must involve some reference to an end or ideal; and 
no alchemy can ever extract this out of the mere 
observation of natural laws.^ The analysis of the 

1 As illustrating this confusion, reference may perhaps be made 
to those primitive conceptions of the relation between the natural 
and the moral order, according to which a man by committing a 
crime might produce an earthquake. Mr. Stout informs me that 
facts of this sort are to be found in D'Alviella's Hibbert Lectures- 
Mill's Essay on " Nature " (in his Three Essays on Religion) is still 
worth reading, with the view of clearing up this confusion. C/. 
also Marshall's Principles of Economics (3d Edn.), pp. 55-57. 

2 Cf. Le Rossignol's Ethical Philosophy of Samuel Clarke, p. 43. Mr. 
Leslie Stephen's comment on Clarke's doctrine {English Thought 
in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii., p. 7.) may be worth noticing here. 
" An obvious difficulty," he says, " underlies all reasoning of this class, 
even in its most refined shape. The doctrine might, on the general 
assumptions of Clarke's philosophy, be applicable to the ' Laws of 
Nature,' but is scarcely to be made applicable to the moral law. 
Every science is potentially deducible from a small number of pri- 
mary truths. . . . Thus, for example, a being of sufficient knowledge 
might construct a complete theory of human nature, of which every 
proposition would be either self-evident or rigorously deducible from 
self-evident axioms. Such propositions would take the form of 
laws in the scientific, not in the moral, sense ; the copula would be 
' is,' not * ought ' ; the general formula would be ' all men do so and so, 
not ' thou shalt do so and so.' . . . The language which he uses about 
the moral law is, in reality, applicable to the scientific law alone. It 
might be said with plausibility . . . that the proposition * all men are 
mortal ' is capable of being deductively proved by inferences from 
some self-evident axioms. A denial of it would, therefore, involve 
a contradiction. But the proposition * Thou shalt not kill ' is a 
threat, not a statement of a truth ; and Clarke's attempt to bring 
it under the same category involves a confusion fatal to the w^hole 
theory. It is, in fact, a confusion between the art and the science of 
human conduct" I quote this passage, because it not only brings out 
what seems to be the error of Clarke, in confounding natural and 



8.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 177 



*'is,"in any such sense as this, can never yield an 
''ought/' Similar doctrines to that of Clarke have 
frequently been put forward, even in quite recent times ; ' 
but they all seem to labour under the same fatal de- 
fect. 

§ 8. The Moral Sense. — If the laws of nature or the 
laws of God are to yield us moral principles, it must be 
because they in some way appeal to our own conscious- 
ness, because we in some way feel that obedience to 
them or observance of them serves to realise an ideal 
which we bring with us. Now an obvious way of 
making tlie connection between such external prin- 
ciples and our own minds is to say that we have a 
natural feeling which leads us to approve some things 
and disapprove of others. We are thus led to the con- 
ception of the moral sense. 

This point of view, like most others in Ethics, has 
had a long history. It connects itself essentially with 
the Greek view of the identity between the Beautiful 
and the Good. In Greek to xaAoy was used habitually 
either for beauty or for moral excellence. Thus, the 
Stoic maxim, Sr« /zo^ov diyadbv rb xa)<6\>^ means that only 
the beautiful {t. e, the morally excellent) is good. A 
similar view has frequently appeared in modern times. 
Thus, the philosopher Herbart insisted strongly on the 
identity of Goodness with Beauty, and definitely treated 

moral law, but also illustrates the other error of confounding moral 
law with the command of a superior. Thou shalt not kill,' as a moral, 
law, is not a threat, but the statement of a normative principle. 
Similarly, there seems to be an error in representing Ethics as the 
art of conduct. 

1 The theory of James Hinton, for instance,— so far as he had a 
theory — seems to bear a considerable resemblance to that of Clarke. 
See an interesting account of his ideas in Mind, old series, Vol. IX. 
Eth. 12 



178 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



Ethics as a part of Esthetics.' The conception of a 
kind of feeling, like aesthetic feeling, accompanying the 
moral judgment, comes out also in some of the writers 
of the school known as the Cambridge Platonists, 
especially in Henry More. But the writers who are 
specially known as the representatives of the idea of a 
moral sense are Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. ^ ''Should 
one,'' says Shaftesbury, 3 ''who had the countenance of 
a gentleman, ask me, 'Why I would avoid being nasty, 
when nobody was present ? ' In the first place I should 
be fully satisfied that he himself was a very nasty gen- 
tleman who could ask this question ; and that it would 
be a hard matter for me to make him even conceive 
what true cleanliness was. However, I might, notwith- 

1 See, for instance, his Science of Education, recently translated 
by Mr. and Mrs. Felkin ; and cf. Bosanquet's History of Esthetics, p. 
369. We may also refer, in this connection, to the saying of Ruskin, 
" Taste is not only a part and an index of morality ; it is the only 
morality. The first and last and closest trial question to any living 
creature is, ' What do you like ? Tell me what you like, and I will 
tell you what you are.' " {Sesame and Lilies). See also Adam 
Smith's Theory of the Moral Sentiments, Part IV., sect. II., and cf. the 
saying of Aristotle quoted above, Book I., chap, iii., § 5. 

2 Shaftesbury was the founder of this school, and its subsequent 
development was due chiefly to Hutcheson. See Sidgwick's History 
of Ethics, p. 189. It is scarcely nc pessary to point out that the meaning 
of the term " sense," as here used, is different from that in which we 
speak of the sense of taste, touch, sight, &c. The latter " senses ** 
are concerned simply with the apprehension of particular qualities 
of objects ; whereas the moral sense or the sense of beauty passes 
judgment on such qualities. The meaning of calling it a moral sense 
is merely to imply that it is an intuitive faculty of judgment. Simi- 
larly, we might say that the judgments of the epicure or of the fea- 
taster rest upon a sense ; but it is not on the mere " sense of taste " 
that such judgments rest, since they involve a standard as well as an 
apprehension. 

8 Characteristics, "An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour," 
Part III., sect. iv. 



§ 8.] VARIOUS CO^XEPTIOXS OF MORAL LAW. 1 79 



standing this, be contented to give him a slight answer, 
and say, ' Twas because I had a nose/ Should he 
trouble me further, and ask, 'What if I had a cold? 
Or what if naturally I had no such nice smell ? ' I 
might answer perhaps, ^ That I cared as little to see 
myself nasty, as that others should see me in that con- 
dition.' But what if it were in the dark? Why even 
then, though I had neither nose nor eyes, my sense 
of the matter would still be the same ; my nature 
would rise at the thought of what was sordid ; or if it 
did not, I should have a wretched nature indeed, and 
hate myself for a beast. Honour myself I never could ; 
whilst I had no better sense of what, in reality, I owed 
myself, and what became me, as a human creature.'* 
'']\Iuch in the same manner,'' he goes on, ''have I 
heard it asked, JV/iy should a man he honest in the 
dark P What a man must be to ask this question, I 
won't say. " And so on. Shaftesbury is thus led to 
conceive that to be virtuous is to be a 'virtuoso,' that 
a cultivated taste is our only guide. " To philosophise 
in a just signification is but to carry good breeding a 
step higher." 

The plausibility of this point of view arises chiefly 
from the fact that in a well-developed character the 
habit of obedience to the moral law becomes a second 
nature, so that the choice of the right and the avoidance 
of the wrong passes almost into a kind of instinct. 
From this point of view it may quite rightly be main- 
tained that the moral sense is a kind of taste.' But 

1 Using the term "taste," of course, in that secondary sense in 
which we speak of " good taste." It is not a taste like that which 
simply apprehends savour, but a taste like that of the tea-taster (who, 
by the by, is properly tQ3.-svieHcr), who judges the qualities of teas 
by a kind of intuitive perception. 



l8o ETHICS. [BK. 11. , CH. III., PT. II. 

it must be remembered that the sense of beauty, as 
well as the sense of Tightness, is capable of being 
explained and justified. Though it is commonly said 
that there is no disputing about tastes," yet we do 
habitually dispute about them, and pronounce them to 
be right or wrong. The moral taste, then, is so far 
quite analogous to the aesthetic taste, and it may be 
quite correct to refer to it as a sense. ^ But since it is 
not simply an inexplicable sense, but is capable of a 
rational explanation, no ethical theory can be regarded 
as thorough which simply treats it as a sense and does 
not endeavour to explain it. Moreover, what can be 
explained can usually also be criticised. When the 
sense of beauty, for instance, has been explained, it is 
possible to criticise the sense of beauty as it is found 
in particular individuals ; and to determine that the 
aesthetic taste of some men is good, while that of others 
is defective. Similarly, when the moral sense is ex- 
plained, it will naturally be possible to pass judgment 
on the moral tastes of different individuals and even of 

1 In this connection it may be noted that even complex intellect- 
ual processes become, after long practice, scarcely distinguish- 
able from intuitive perceptions. A man who is highly skilled in 
any art seems to see at a glance what requires to be done on 
any given occasion. Yet we do not postulate a sense in such 
cases, because we know that the judgments of the expert rest in 
reality on rational grounds (though frequently he might not be able 
to give any clear account of the grounds of his own judgment). An 
illustration of a similar fact may be found in "Lord Mansfield's 
advice to a man of practical good sense, who, being appointed gov- 
ernor of a colony, had to preside in its Court of Justice, without 
previous judicial practice or legal education. The advice was to 
give his decision boldly, for it would probably be right ; but never 
to venture on assigning reasons, for they would almost infallibly be 
wrong" (Mill's Logic, Book II., chap, iii., § 3). In such a case the 
reasons of the action are latent j but no one would doubt that reasons 



9-] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. l8l 



different ages and nations. For these reasons, then, 
a system of ethics which simply rests content with the 
idea of a moral sense, can scarcely be regarded as 
satisfactory. 

As a matter of fact, indeed, the moral sense was not 
accepted either by Shaftesbury or by Hutcheson as a 
sufficient basis for Ethics. They both sought to ex- 
plain it as due to the nature of man as a social being. 
They both thought that what a cultivated moral taste 
approves is that which is beneficial to society as a 
whole, what tends to bring about ''the greatest happi- 
ness of the greatest number." ' All that they urged was 
that it is not necessary to reflect upon this principle, 
since it is naturally embodied in any cultivated taste. 

But, of course, in morals we want some principle 
which will apply generally, not merely to those of cul- 
tivated taste ; or at least we require to know definitely 
what it is that constitutes a cultivated taste, in order 
that it may be developed, as far as possible, in all 

could be found. So in the moral life the good man seems to see 
instinctivel}' in many cases what he ought to do, and frequently 
could not give any reason. It is this fact that makes it appear as if 
there were some special " moral sense " involved. But the truth is 
that even intellectual insight depends, from this point of view, on a 
kind of developed intuition. Everything that we really know, we 
know by directly looking at it, rather than by arguing round about it. 

All the thinking in the world," as Goethe said, " does not bring 
us to thought ; we must be right by nature, so that good thoughts 
may come to us, like free children of God, and cry ' Here we are.' " 
So it is with moral perception. It depends on a developed sense 
or intuition, but not an unintelligible sense, or one destitute of inner 
principle. " Our instinctive knowledge," says Mach [Science of 
Mechanics, Chap. I., sect, ii.), " leads us to the principle which explains 
that knowledge itself, and which is in its turn corroborated by the 
existence of that knowledge." So it is with our instinctive morality. 
1 This phrase w^as actually used by Hutcheson. 



l82 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



mankind. In this way the moral sense differs from 
the artistic sense. A man who is deficient in the latter 
may be a respected member of society ; but the man 
who lacks the former is condemned by all who have 
it. It is this authoritativeness of the moral sense that 
is not sufficiently brought out when it is regarded as 
analogous to the sense of beauty. 

§ 9. The Law of Conscience. — Bishop Butler was 
strongly impressed by the unsatisfactoriness of the 
view of Shaftesbury in this respect ; and he endeavoured 
to remedy the defect by substituting the idea of Con- 
science for that of the moral sense. In itself this is 
but a slight change ; but by Conscience Butler under- 
stood something considerably different from what 
Shaftesbury had meant by the moral sense. Butler 
thought of human nature as an organic whole, con- 
taining many elements, some of which are naturally 
subordinate to others. Thus, there are in our nature 
a number of particular passions or impulses which lead 
us to pursue particular objects ; but all these are na- 
turally subordinate to Self-love, on the one hand, and 
to Benevolence, on the other ; i. e. it is natural for 
us to restrain or guide our passions with a view to the 
good of ourselves or of others. But there is a certain 
principle in human nature which is naturally superior 
even to Self-love or Benevolence. This is the principle 
of reflection upon the law of rightness ; and this is what 
Butler understood by Conscience. He regarded this 
principle as categorical, on account of its place in the 
human constitution. *'Thus that principle, by which 
we survey, and either approve or disapprove our own 
heart, temper, and actions, is not only to be considered 
as what is in its turn to have some influence ; which 



lO.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1 83 



may be said of every passion, of the lowest appetites : 
but likewise as being superior ; as from its very nature 
manifestly claiming superiority over all others ; inso- 
much that you cannot form a notion of this faculty, 
conscience, without taking in judgment, direction, 
superintendency. This is a constituent part of the idea, 
that is, of the faculty itself : and to preside and govern, 
from the very economy and constitution of man, belongs 
to it. Had it strength, as it has right, had it power, 
as it has manifest authority, it would absolutely govern 
the world." ' 

When we ask, however, what is the nature of this 
authoritative principle, two different views seem to 
present themselves. According to one view, it is 
simply an inexplicable faculty which we find within us, 
by which laws are laid down. According to another 
view, it is an intelligible authority w^hose commands 
can be understood by rational reflection. It is not quite 
clear in which of these two ways Butler thought of Con- 
science ; but among those who followed him the two 
views began to be clearly distinguished. The former 
view is that which is generally known as Intuitionism, 
in the narrower sense : the other is the view of a law 
of Reason. 

§ 10. Intuitionism. — Intuitionism ^ may be described 
generally as the theory that actions are right or wrong 

1 Sermon II. 

2 From Latin, intueri, to look at. The intuitionists hold that we 
perceive the rightness or wrongness of actions by simply looking at 
them, without needing to consider their relations to any ends out- 
side themselves. It may be noted here that the term is generally 
written in the longer form " Intuitionalism." But the shorter form 
has been made current by Dr. Sidgwick, and seems more convenient 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



according to their own intrinsic nature, and not in vir- 
tue of any ends outside themselves which they tend to 
realise. Thus, truth-speaking would be regarded as a 
duty, not because it is essential for social well-being, 
or for any other extrinsic reason, but because it is right 
in its own nature. This theory has been held in vari- 
ous forms, more or less philosophical in character. For 
a full account of these forms reference must be made 
to histories of Ethics and Philosophy. ^ Here it is only 
possible to notice the leading points. 

In the narrower sense of the term, Intuitionism is 
understood to mean the doctrine which refers the judg- 
ment upon actions to the tribunal of Conscience, under- 
stood as a faculty which admits of no question or 
appeal. 

When conscience is thus referred to as the funda- 
mental principle of morals, we must not iinder- 

1 It should be observed that there is a certain ambiguity in the 
use of the term Intuitionism. It is employed in a wider and in a 
narrower sense. In the narrov^er sense it means a doctrine which 
traces our moral judgments to some unanalysable form of perception, 
some purely intuitive conviction of which no rational account can 
be given. In this acceptation of the term, Kant and his forerunners, 
Clarke, Wollaston, &c., were not intuitionists ; for Kant at least 
rested the moral judgment on the practical reason^ not on percep- 
tion. But in a wider sense all the writers of this class may be char- 
acterised as intuitionists ; since they appeal to self-evident laws, 
rather than to any conception of a good with reference to which 
our moral actions may be regarded as means, 

2 For the best modern statement of the intuitionist doctrine, the 
student should consult Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory, Part II. 
An excellent criticism of intuitionism will be found in Sidgwick's 
Methods of Ethics, Book I., chaps, viii. and ix., and Book III. For 
the history of the subject, see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, especially 
pp. 224—236. Also pp. 170—204. Calderwood's Handbook of Moral 
Philosophy may also be referred to. 



§ 10.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1 85 



stand it to mean the conscience of this or that indi- 
vidual. The conscience of any particular individual is 
simply the consciousness of the harmony or dishar- 
mony of his action with his own standard of right : and 
if this standard is defective, the same defect will appear 
in the conscience. His conscience may be, in Mr. 
Ruskin's phrase, ''The conscience of an ass." The 
man who does not act conscientiously certainly acts 
wrongly : he does not conform even to his own stand- 
ard of rightness. But a man may act conscientiously 
and yet act wrongly, on account of some imperfection 
in his standard. One who acts conscientiously in ac- 
cordance with some defective standard is generally 
known as a ''fanatic.'' ' 

When, however, Kant says that an erring con- 
science is a chimera," 2 or when Butler says of the 
conscience that "if it had power, as it has manifest 
authority, it would absolutely govern the world," or 
when, in general, intuitionist writers refer to the con- 
science as the supreme principle of morals, what they 
mean by conscience is rather what may be called the 
universal conscience. They mean that ultimate recog- 
nition of the rightness and wrongness of actions, which 
is latent in all men, but which in some men is more 
fully developed than in others. The principles by 
which this recognition is made are sometimes referred 
to as principles of Common Sense, because they are 

1 C/. above, Book I., chap, vi., § 6. It is there explained that we 
judge the action to be wrong because it is not done from the best 
motive. It may, however, appear to the agent to be the best. See 
also below, Book III., chap, ii., § 14. 

2 See the Preface to his Metaphysical Elements of Ethics (Abbott's 
translation), pp, 311 and 321, 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



supposed to be common or universal throughout the 
whole human race.' 

The principles of common sense have been referred 
to by some writers ^ as if they were simply certain 
moral truths which are found unaccountably in the 
consciousness of mankind. Against this view there is 
the same objection as there is against the correspond- 
ing view with regard to intellectual truth. It conflicts 
with a principle which is deeper than any other principle 
of common sense can well be — the principle, namely, 
that the world must be regarded as an intelligible sys- 
tem of which a definite account can be given before the 
bar of reason. If this principle is a mistaken one, it is 
hard to believe that there can beany other that has 
a deeper claim to be regarded as of universal validity. 
The inadequacy of conscience as a basis of morals 
becomes further apparent when we endeavour to de- 
termine definitely what principles are laid down by 

1 It will thus be seen that there is a certain ambiguity in the use 
of the term " conscience." There is another ambiguity, to which 
we shall have occasion to refer by and by. Conscience is frequently, 
perhaps even generally, understood to denote, not the principles of 
moral judgment, but the feeling of pain which accompanies the 
violation of moral law. When we speak of "the voice of con- 
science," and of conscience as laying down laws, we are of course 
not speaking of it as a mere feeling of pain, but as containing prin- 
ciples in accordance with which we form our moral judgments. 
The confusion w^hich results from this ambiguity in the use of the 
term is well brought out by Mr. Muirhead in his Elements of Ethics 
pp. 78-9. Cf, also Porter's Elements of Moral Science, p. 246. And 
see above, Note at end of Book I. 

2 Especially Reid and the other members of the so-called Scotch 
School. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 226-233. Dr. Marti- 
neau's theory is essentially a carrying out of this view. On the 
other hand, such a book as Janet's Theory of Morals represents a 
more rational interpretation of the intuitional principles. 



§ 10.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1 8/ 



it. The content of conscience, even if we mean by 
it the conscience of a people or an age, rather than 
that of an individual, is found to vary very consider- 
ably in different times and countries ; and even at the 
same time and place the rules that are laid down by it 
are of a very uncertain character.^ Reflection shows, 
moreover, that these variations are not arbitrary, but 
have a distinct reference to the utility of actions under 
varying conditions for the realisation of human welfare. 
This has been well brought out in the very thorough 
examination of Common Sense Morality which is given 
in Dr. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics,'^ From this it 
appears that the moral sense must not be regarded as 
a blind faculty, laying down principles for our guid- 
ance which are not capable of any further analysis or 
justification. On the contrary, the principles which it 
lays down can be rationally justified and explained. 
In fact, it is only by such justification and explanation 
that we can distinguish what is permanent and reliable 
in the decisions of conscience from what is variable 
and untrustworthy. But when we thus draw distinc- 
tions and pass judgment upon conscience itself, it is 
evident that we must somehow have a conscience be- 
hind conscience, a faculty of judgment which stands 
above the blind law of the heart. 

§11. The Law of Reason. — The view, however, 
which holds that there are certain universal principles 
of moral truth in the human consciousness is not 
necessarily pledged to regard these principles as unin- 

1 See Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Book I., 
chap, iii., and Spencer's Principles of Ethics, Part II. 

2 See especially Book III., chap, xi., for a summary of Dr. Sidg- 
wick's carefully reasoned conclusions on this point. 



188 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II. 



telHgible. Just as Kant held that there are certain 
principles of intellectual truth — what he called categories 
— which belong to the nature of all intelligent beings 
as such, so it may be held also that there are certain 
universal principles of moral truth. And just as the 
categories of our intellectual life may be deduced from 
the very nature of thought, so also the principles of our 
moral life may be capable of a rational deduction. 
There may be principles of our moral life which are as 
obvious to us, when we reflect upon them, as that 2 + 
2 = 4, or that every event must have a cause ; and yet 
it may be possible, as in these latter cases it is, to see, 
on further reflection, why it is that these principles are 
obvious. If this were so, the intuitions of the moral con- 
sciousness would in reality be due to a kind of rational 
insight. They would be a manifestation of what 
might be called moral reason. This is the view of the 
deeper intuitionists, of whom Clarke may be taken as a 
type ; ^ for the law of reason, in this sense, is scarcely 
distinguishable from w^hat was referred to above as the 
law of nature. The Stoics, and most other writers who 
have referred to a law of nature, have also described it 
as the law of reason — nature being nearly always con- 
ceived by them as in some sense, a rational system.^ 

1 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 179 — 184. A similar view 
seems to be represented by Janet in his Theory of Morals, Book III., 
chap. iv. Janet holds that, in spite of the apparent diversities of 
moral sentiment in different peoples brought out by such writers as 
Locke and Spencer, there are yet certain latent principles which are 
the same in all men, and to which a final appeal may be made. 
This view seems not inconsistent with the recognition that particular 
individuals and races may have a very imperfect apprehension of 
the ultimate principles involved in their moral judgments. 

2 When the law of nature is thus conceived as a principle of reason, 
it comes to be thought of as normative. 



§11.] VARIOUS CO^XEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1 89 



When, however, the unsalisfactoriness of basing moral 
principles on a law of nature has become apparent, 
writers of this type are naturally led to lay more and 
more emphasis on the fact that it is in reality a law 
of reason with which we are concerned. Ethics thus 
comes to be conceived after the analog-y of Logic, just 
as the moral sense school conceived it on the analogy 
of Esthetics. Wollaston, a disciple of Clarke, repre- 
sents this tendency in its most extreme form. " [Moral 
evil, according to Wollaston, is the practical denial of 
a true position, and moral good the affirmation of it. 
To steal is wrong because it is to deny that the thing 
stolen is what it is, the property of another. Every 
right action is the affirmation of a truth ; every wrong 
action is the denial of a truth.''' ''Thirty years of 
profound meditation," says Stephen, ^ had convinced 
Wollaston that the reason why a man should abstain from 
breaking his wife's head was, that it was a way of deny- 
ing that she was his wife. All sin, in other words, was 
lying." If a man runs another through the body, it is 
simply a pointed way of denying that he is a man and 
a brother ; and the evil lies not in the pointedness but 
in the error. ' ' It is worse than a crime — it is a blunder. " 
In all this the sophistry is obvious. A bad action is 
inconsistent; but it is not inconsistent with fact : it is in- 
consistent with an ideal — the ideal, for instance, which 
is involved in the relationship between man and man.^ 

1 Le Rossignol's Ethical Philosophy of Samuel Clarke, p. 87. 

2 English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, vol. i., p. 130. 

3 What is said above refers specially to the views of Clarke and 
Wollaston. \Vith Locke Ethics is conceived more definitely on the 
analogy of mathematics. He thinks of these as the two demonstra- 
tive sciences, starting with nominal definitions and proceeding by 
the law of self -consistency, This seems to involve some misconcep- 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



A more ingenious and suggestive form of this 
doctrine was put forward by Kant, who argued that 
bad actions are essentially inconsistent with them- 
selves ; or at least that there is an inconsistency in the 
principle upon which they proceed. His view on this 
point is so important that we must examine it at some 
length. 

PART III. THE DOCTRmE OF KANT. 

§ 12. Kant's View of the Moral Reason. — Kant argued 
that, since the moral imperative is categorical, it cannot 
be derived from the consideration of any end outside of 
the will of the individual. For every external end is 
empirical, and could give rise only to a hypothetical 
imperative. We should only be entitled to say that, if 
we seek that end, we are bound to act in a particular 
way, with a view to its attainment. Kant held, there- 
fore, that the absolute imperative of duty has no refer- 
ence to any external ends to which the will is directed, 
but simply to the right direction of the will itself. 
' ' There is nothing good but the good will ; " and this is 
good in itself, not with reference to any external facts. 
It must have its law entirely within itself. If the im- 
perative which it involves were dependent on any of 
the facts of experience, which are by their nature con- 
tingent, it would itself be contingent, and could not be 
an absolute law. It follows from this that the moral 
law cannot have any particular content. It cannot tell 

tion of the nature both of mathematics and of morals. Geometry 
does not start simply with nominal definitions. It starts with the 
conception of space. Similarly, Ethics does not start with arbitrary 
definitions of justice, &c., but with the conception of the concrete 
human ideal. This is a subject, however, into which we cannot enter 
with any fulness here. 



II.] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 



US any particular things that we are to do or to abstain 
from doing ; because all particular things have in them 
an empirical and contingent element, and the moral 
law can have no reference to any such element. 
Hence the moral law cannot tell us what the matter or 
content of our actions ought to be : it can only instruct 
us with regard to the form. But a pure form, without 
any matter, must be simply the form of law in general. 
That is to say, the moral law can tell us nothing more 
than that we are to act in a way that is conformable to 
law. And this means simply that our actions must 
have a certain self-consistency — e. that the principles 
on which we act must be principles that we can adopt 
throughout the whole of our lives, and that we can 
apply to the lives of others. Kant is thus led to give 
as the content of the categorical imperative this 
formula — ''Act only on that maxim (or principle) 
which thou canst at the same time will to become a 
universal law. " ' 

He illustrates the application of this formula by 
taking such a case as that of breaking promises. It is 
wrong to break a promise, because the breach of a 
promise is a kind of action which could not be univer- 
salised. If it were a universal rule that every one 
were to break his promise, whenever he felt inclined, 
no one would place any reliance on promises. Prom- 
ises, in fact, would cease to be made. And if course, 
if they were not made, they could not be broken. 
Hence it would be impossible for every one to break 
his promise. And since it is impossible for every one, 
it must be wrong for any one. The essence of wrong- 
doing consists in making an exception. 

1 Metaphysic of Morals, section II, 



192 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



Similarly, it may easily be shown that we could not, 
without a certain absurdity, have universal suicide, ' or 
universal stealing, or even universal indifference to the 
misfortunes of others. Since, then, we cannot really 
will that such acts should be done by every one, we 
have no right to will that we ourselves should do 
them. In fact, the moral law is — Act only in such a 
way as you could will that every one else should act 
under the same general conditions. 

§ 13. Criticism of Kant, (i) Formalism. — It seems 
clear that the principle laid down by Kant affords in 
many cases a safe negative guide in conduct. If we 
cannot will that all men should, under like conditions, 
act as we are doing, w^e may generally be sure that 
we are acting wrongly. When, however, we en- 
deavour to extract positive guidance from the formula 
— when we try to ascertain, by means of it, not merely 
what v/e should abstain from doing, but what we 
should do — it begins to appear that it is merely a 
formal principle,^ from which no definite matter can 
be derived ; and further consideration may lead us to 
see that it cannot even give us quite satisfactory 
negative guidance. 

We must first observe, however, what was the exact 

1 This is one of the most difficult points to prove in at all a satis- 
factory way. Kant's argument is ingenious, but hardly convincing. 

2 See the criticisms on Kant in Mill's Utilitarianism, chap, i., p. 5, 
Bradley's Ethical Studies, pp. 139 sqq., Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, 
pp. 78 — 82, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 130-135, Adamson's 
Philosophy of Kant, pp. 119-20, &c. For a full discussion of Kant's 
doctrine on this point, see Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book 
II., chap. ii. Mr, Abbott, in his translation of Kant's Theory of Ethics^ 
pp. xlix— Iv, partly defends Kant's point of view, but does not succeed 
in showing that it leads to results that are pragtically helpful 



4 



§13.] 



THE DOCTRINE OF KAXT. 



meaning that Kant put upon his principle. It is evident 
that it might be interpreted in two very different ways. 
It might be taken to refer to general species of con- 
duct, or it might be taken to refer to particular acts, 
with all the limitations of time, place, and circumstance. 
It was in the former sense that the principle was under- 
stood by Kant ; ^ but it is well to bear in mind that 
there is also a possibility of the latter interpretation. 
The difference between the two might be illustrated, 
for instance, in the case of stealing. According to the 
former interpretation, stealing must in all cases be 
condemned, because its principle cannot be univer- 
salised. According to the latter interpretation, it would 
be necessary, in each particular instance in which 
there is a temptation to steal, to consider whether it is 
possible to will that every human being should steal, 
when placed under precisely similar conditions. The 
former interpretation would evidently give us a very 
strict view of duty, while the latter might easily give 
us a very lax one. 

Now if we accept, as Kant does, the former of these 
two interpretations, it seems clear that the principle is 
a purely formal one, from which the particular matter 
of conduct cannot be extracted. In order to apply it 
at all, we must presuppose a certain given material. ^ 

1 The reason why Kant took this view is, that he thought that a 
man ought not only to be able to will that the principle of his action 
should be universally adopted, but that it should be made into a law 
of nature. To discuss the ground on which he held this opinion, 
would carry us beyond the scope of this manual. 

2 Kant was partly aware of this, and in his later treatment of the 
subject seeks to derive the positive part of moral obligation from the 
consideration of the twofold end— our own Perfection and the Hap- 
piness of others— and also from the general principles of Jurispru- 

Eth. 13 



194 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



Thus, in order to show that stealmg leads to self-con- 
tradiction, we must presuppose the existence of pro- 
perty. It is inconsistent to take the property of another, 
if we recognise the legitimacy of private property ; but 
if any one denies this, there is no inconsistency in his 
acting accordingly. In order to apply Kant's principle, 
therefore, it is necessary first to know what presuppo- 
sitions we are entitled to make. Otherwise, there is 
scarcely any action which might not be shown to lead 
to inconsistency. For instance, the relief of distress, 
the effort after the moral improvement of society, and 
the like, might be said to lead to inconsistency ; for if 
every one were engaged in these actions, it would be 
unnecessary for any one to engage in them. They 
are necessary only because they are neglected. The 
only difference between these cases and that of theft 
or of promise-breaking, is that in the one set of cases 
the abolition of the activity would lead to what is 
regarded as a desirable result — the cessation of distress 
or immorality ; while in the other set of cases it would 
lead to what is regarded as an undesirable result — the 
cessation of property or of promises. But when we 
ask why the one result is to be regarded as desirable 
and the other as undesirable, there is no answer from 
the Kantian point of view. All that the Kantian prin- 
ciple enables us to say is that, assuming certain kinds 

dence. See Abbott, pp. 296—302. Thus, the positive side of duty 
would be derived largely from utilitarian considerations, while the 
moral reason would simply urge us to be self-consistent. Kant's 
view thus approximated to that developed in recent times by Dr. 
Sidgwick See below, chap. iv. But on this point, as on many 
others, Kant kept the different sides of his theory in separate com- 
partments of his mind, and never really brought them together. 
Cf. Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book IL, chaps, vi, and vii 



13-] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 



of conduct to be in general right, we must not make 
exceptions on our own behalf. 

If, on the other hand, we were to adopt the second 
of the two possible interpretations of the principle of 
consistency, it would not be possible to derive from it 
even this very moderate amount of instruction. For 
to say that we are always to act in such a way that 
we could will that all other human beings, under 
exactly the same conditions, should act similarly, is 
merely to say that we are to act in a way that we 
approve. Whenever a man approves of his own course 
of action, he ipso facio wills that any one else in like 
conditions should do likewise. Consequently, from 
this principle no rule of conduct whatever can be 
derived. It simply throws us back upon the morality 
of common sense. ^ 

The pure will of Kant, being thus entirely formal, 
and destitute of particular content, has been well 
described by Jacobi as a will that wills nothing,'' ^ 

§ 14. Criticism of Kant {continued). (2) Stringency, 
— Not only is the Kantian principle open to the charge 
of being purely formal, it has also the defect of giving 
rise to a code of morals of a much stricter character 
than that which the moral sense of the best men 3 
seems to demand. Of course this cannot be regarded 
as a fatal criticism ; for it may be that that moral sense 

1 Or upon utilitarian considerations. See preceding note. It may 
be remarked that this difficulty in Kant arises from the dualism of 
his philosophical point of view. 

2 See Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., p. 216, note. 

8 Our English moralists are fond of referring to the opinions of 
" the plain man." But it depends a good deal on the character of 
" the plain man " whether his opinions on moral questions are worth 
considering. 



196 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. Ill 

is deficient. ' Still on the whole any conflict with that 
sense must be regarded as a prima facie presumption 
against an ethical system in which it occurs ; and, 
along with other criticisms, may help to overthrow 
it. Now there are two distinct ways in which the 
Kantian system appears to be much too rigorous. 

{a) In the first place, according to the Kantian view 
no conduct can be regarded as truly virtuous which 
rests on feeling. Conduct is right only in so far as it 
is dictated by the moral reason ; and the moral reason 
is a purely formal principle, which has no connection 
w^ith any of the feelings or passions of human nat- 
ure. But much of the conduct that men commonly 
praise, springs rather from feeling than from any direct 
application of reason.^ This has been strikingly 
expressed by Wordsworth in his Ode io Duty — 

" There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 

Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot ; 

Who do thy work, and know it not." 3 

1 We shall see later (chap, vi.) that few ethical writers are pre- 
pared to go against the developed moral sense of mankind ; and, in 
particular, it is certain that Kant himself was not. 

2 Kant's point of view might be illustrated by the famous declara- 
tion of Sir T. Browne in his Religio Medici: "I give no alms to 
satisfy the hunger of my brother, but to fulfil and accomplish the will 
and command of my God." Contrast this attitude with that of the 
philanthropist who is actuated simply by love of those whom he 
seeks to benefit, and it is at once evident, even to the plainest com- 
mon sense, that the latter is immeasurably the higher of the two. 
Indeed, it would scarcely be a paradox to say that, in such cases, the 
more purely a man is guided by love, and the less conscious he is 
of performing a duty, the better his action is. But see next note. 

3 Schiller has an even more emphatic utterance on the same point 
in his poem Der Genius, beginning, " Must I distrust my impulse ?* 



§ 14..] 



THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 



197 



Kant, resting duty upon a formal principle of reason, 
does not recognise the possibility of such an attitude 
as this. This defect was early perceived by the poet 
Schiller, an ardent student of the Kantian system, who 
expressed his dissatisfaction in the form of an epigram. 
He supposes an ethical inquirer to bring the following 
difficulty before a Kantian philosopher — 

** Willingly ser\'e I my friends, but I do it, alas ! with affection. 
Hence I am plagued with the doubt, virtue I have not attained." 

And he represents him as receiving the following an- 
swer — 

This is your only resource, you must stubbornly seek to abhor them. 
Then 3^ou can do with disgust that which the law may enjoin." 

Of course this is a gross exaggeration of Kant's posi- 
tion ; for he would not demand the presence of abhor- 
rence, nor even the absence of affection. Still, it is 
true that he did not recognise the possibility of the 
performance of duty from feeling as contrasted with 

and ending, " What thou pleasest to do, is thy law." His criticism 
is more philosophically expressed in the treatise, Ueber AnmiiiJnind 
Wnrde, where he says, among other things, that " Man notonl}' may 
but should bring pleasure and duty into relation to one another ; he 
should obey his reason with joy." Of course, it would be easy to 
carry all this to the opposite extreme from that represented b\' Kant ; 
and perhaps Kant's is the less dangerous extreme of the two. The 
over-indulgent parent, for instance, cannot be justified by a mere 
appeal to an impulse of affection. All that we are entitled to say is 
that a man will often be led to the performance of duty by aft'ection 
far m.ore effectively than by the consciousness of law, and that duty 
so performed does not thereby cease to be duty ; and further, that 
the highest forms of duty, involving love, are not compatible with 
the absence of affection, and cannot be satisfactorily done from 
mere respect for law. Cf. Janet's Theory of Morals^ Book III., chap. 
V. ; and see above, Book I., chap, iii., § 5. 



198 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



the performance of it from the mere sense of duty 
given by the moral reason. 

{b) Another respect in which the rigour of Kant's 
point of view appears, is this, that he permits of no 
exceptions to his moral imperatives. Now the moral 
sense of the best men seems to say that there is no 
commandment, however sacred (unless it be the com- 
mandment of love), that does not under certain cir- 
cumstances release its claims. This objection was 
very forcibly put by Jacobi in an indignant protest 
against the Kantian system, which he addressed to 
Fichte. ^ Yes," he exclaims, am the Atheist, the 
Godless one, who, in spite of the will that wills no- 
thing, am ready to lie as the dying Desdemona lied ; 
to lie and deceive like Pylades, when he pretended to 
be Orestes ; to murder like Timoleon ; to break law 
and oath like Epaminondas, like John de Witt ; to 
commit suicide with Otho and sacrilege with David, — 
yea, to rub the ears of corn on the Sabbath day, merely 

A It may be observed that Fichte himself, though a disciple of 
Kant, laid stress chiefly on the Kantian dictum that "an erring 
conscience is a chimera," and regarded the command to " follow 
conscience " as the supreme moral principle. He regarded con- 
science, moreover, not as a principle which lays down merely 
formal imperatives, but rather as one which bids us advance along 
the line of rational development. Fichte was thus rather a repre- 
sentative of the school of idealistic evolution, referred to below in 
chap. V. For this reason, Janet remarks {Theory of Morals, p. 264) 
that Jacobi ought to have regarded Fichte as essentially in agree- 
ment with himself. For Jacobi also appealed to the heart or moral 
sense of the individual. But surely what Fichte meant by the 
" conscience " was a rational and tiniversal principle of guidance, 
very different from a mere heart or moral sense. Cf. Adamson's 
Fichte, pp. 193 sqq. ; Schwegler's History of Philosophy, pp. 273-4 ; 
Erdmann's History of Philosophy, vol. ii., pp. 514-16. 



§ 14.] THE DOCTRINE OF KAXT. I99 

because I am hungry, and because the law is made for 
the sake of mafi and not man for the sake of the law. I 
am that Godless one, and I deride the philosophy that 
calls me Godless for such reasons, both it and its 
Supreme Being; for with the holiest certitude that I 
have in me, I know that the prerogative of pardon in 
reference to such transgressions of the letter of the 
absolute law of reason, is the characteristic royal right 
of man, the seal of his dignity and of his divine 
nature/' Jacobi held, therefore, that man is not called 
upon to act ''in blind obedience to the law/' He is 
entitled to appeal from pure reason to the heart, which 
is indeed the only ''faculty of ideas that are not 
empty/* "This heart/' he says, "the Transcendental 
Philosophy will not be allowed to tear out of my 
breast, in order to set a pure impulse of Egoism in its 
place. I am not one to allow myself to be freed from 
the dependence of love, in order to have my blessed- 
ness in pride alone/' 

To what extent this view of Jacobi is justifiable, will 
probably become more apparent as we proceed. In 
reality, it is quite as one-sided as the view of Kant to 
which it is opposed. It calls attention, however, to 
the undue rigour of Kant's principle, in admitting of 
no exceptions to his moral imperatives. But indeed, 
even apart from such considerations as Jacobi has ad- 
duced, it must be tolerably apparent that the rigour of 
the Kantian system, in excluding all exceptions, over- 
shoots the mark. For many actions in ordinary life 
are right simply because they are exceptions. Many 
instances of heroic self-sacrifice would be unjustifiable 
if every one were to perform them. When it is right 
for a man to devote his life to a great cause, it is 



200 



ETHICS, [bk. n., CH. in., pt. hi. 



usua^lly right just because it maybe assumed that no 
one else will do it. Or take the case of celibacy.^ 
For every one to abstain from marriage would be in- 
consistent with the continuance of the human race 
on earth ; consequently, any one who abstained from 
marriage for the sake 0/ some benefit to posterity would, 
from Kant's point of view, be acting inconsistently ; 
yet it seems clear that it is not the duty of every one 
to marry, and even that it is the duty of some to 
abstain, — and to abstain, \oo, for the sake of posterity. 

It appears, then, that the Kantian principle, inter- 
preted in this w^ay, is much too stringent. On the 
other hand, if we were to accept the other interpreta- 
tion, it would be too lax. For it would then admit of 
every conceivable exception that we could will to be 
universally allowed under precisely similar conditions; 
and this would include everything that human beings 
do,^ except when they are consciously doing what they 
know cannot be justified by any rational plea. 

§ 15. Real Significance of the Kantian Principle. — 
We must not, however, conclude from this that the 
Kantian principle is to be entirely rejected. There is 
a sense in which it is a quite complete criterion of the 

1 Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book IV., chap, v., § 3 ; and 
Abbott's translation of Kant's Theory of Ethics^ pp. liii., sqq. The 
student should observe carefully where the inconsistency comes in 
here — viz. in the principle (or maxim) itself, not in its mere results, 

2 For instance, a man might be dishonest in business, and justify 
himself by saying that the principle on which he acted was, that a 
shrewd man is entitled to overreach a careless one. If he had per- 
fect confidence in his own shrewdness, he might be quite willing 
that this principle should be universally carried out ; and at the 
same time he might uphold the general principle of respect for 
the rights of others, subject only to this particular limitation. 



§15.] 



THE DOCTRINE OF KAXT. 



20I 



Tightness of an action to ask whether it can be consist- 
ently carried out. Our moral action is in this respect 
exactly similar to our intellectual life. An error can- 
not be consistently carried out, and neither can a sin. 
But in both cases alike the test is not that of mere 
formal consistency. We may take up an erroneous 
idea and hold consistently to it, so long as we confine 
ourselves to that particular idea. The inconsistency 
comes in only when we try to fit the erroneous idea 
into the scheme of the world as a whole. It is with 
that scheme that error is inconsistent. In like manner 
in our moral life we may take up a false principle of 
action, and we may carry it out consistently, and even 
will that all others should act in accordance with it, 
so long as we confine our attention to that particular 
action and its immediate consequences. But so soon 
as we go beyond this, and consider its bearing on the 
whole scheme of life/ it becomes apparent that we 
could not will that it should be universalised. The 
reason is, not that the action is inconsistent with itself, 
but rather that it is inconsistent with ihe self—i, e. with 
the unity of our lives as a systematic whole. ^ But 
then we have at once to ask — How are we to know 

1 How this scheme of Hfe is to be conceived, is a question for 
future consideration. We shall see, at a later stage, that life has to 
be thought of as a growth or development. Hence it can never 
stand before us as a completed scheme ; and that with which we 
have to be consistent is rather the idea of progress. But, as the 
novelists say, " we are anticipating." 

2 It should be observed that Kant to some extent advanced towards 
the point of view here indicated ; especially by his conception of 
Humanity as an absolute end, and still more by the pregnant idea 
of all rational beings as constituting r Kingdom of ends. MetapJiysic 
of Morals, Sect. H. (Abbott's translation, pp. 46—59). But the per- 
sistent dualism of Kant's system prevented him from recognising 



202 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. IH. 

what is and what is not consistent with this unity? 
What can we, and what can we not, desire to see 
universally carried out ? This question cannot be 
answered by any mere consideration of formal con- 
sistency. We must inquire into the nature of our 
desires — /. e. we must introduce matter as well as form. 
We must ask, in other words, what is the nature of the 
self with which we have to be consistent. 

the full significance of the advance which he had thus suggested ; 
and his principle remained formal after all. Cf. Caird's Critical 
Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 218 — 226. For a more recent criticism 
of Kant's ethical position, see Simmel's Einleitung in die Moral- 
wissenschaft, Vol. II., chap. v. 



0 



THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 



203 



Note on Kant. 

Kant's view is rightly characterised by Bradley {Ethical Shidies, 
Essay IV.) as that of Duty for Duty's Sake,"i and is contrasted with 
the utilitarian view (Essay III.), which is described as that of 

Pleasure for Pleasure's Sake." Professor Dewey, in like manner, 
describes the Kantian system {Outlines of Ethics, p. 78) as furnishing 
us with merely "Formal Ethics," and as being a "theory which 
attempts to find the good not only in the will itself, but in the will 
irrespective of any end to be reached by the will." Mr. Muirhead 
{Elements of Ethics, p. 112 sqq.) has also described the Kantian 
theory in similar terms, referring both to Bradley and to Dewey ; 
but he has carried Bradley's antithesis between the Kantian Ethics 
and utilitarianism to a somewhat extreme point, even going so far 
as to characterise the Kantian view of the supreme good by means 
of the heading, " The End as Self-Sacrifice." This appears to me to 
be an exaggeration. Kant considered that we must do our duty out 
of pure respect for the law of reason, and not from any anticipation 
of pleasure ; but he nowhere, so far as I am aware, suggests that 
there is any merit in the absence of pleasure. On the contrary, 
though he does not regard happiness as the direct end at which the 
virtuous man is to aim, he yet believes that, in any complete account 
of the supreme human good, happiness must be included as well as 
virtue— though in subordination to virtue. Indeed, he even con- 
sidered that, unless we had grounds for believing that the two 
elements — virtue and happiness — are ultimately to be found united, 
the very foundation of morality would be destroyed. Thus he sa^'s, 
" In the siimmiim homun which is practical for us, /. e, to be realised 
by our w411, virtue and happiness are thought as necessarily com- 
bined, so that the one cannot be assumed by pure practical reason 
without the other also being attached to it. Now this combination 
(like every other) is either analytical or synthetical. It has been 
shown that it cannot be analytical ;3 it must then be synthetical, and, 
more particularly, must be conceived as the connection of cause 

1 It should be noted, however, that the account given by Mr. 
Bradley in this chapter of the theory of " Duty for Duty's Sake " is 
not, and is not intended to be, an exact statement of the position of 
Kant. 

2 Critique of Practical Reason, Part I., Book II., chap. ii. § i. Ab- 
bott's translation of Kant's Theory of Ethics, third edition, p. 209. 

3 7. e. that happiness is not directly included in virtue, or virtue in 
happiness. 



204 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



and effect, since it concerns a practical good, /. e. one that is pos- 
sible by means of action ; consequently either the desire of happiness 
must be the motive to maxims of virtue,i or the maxim of virtue must 
be the efficient cause of happiness. The first is absolutely impossible, 
because (as was proved in the Analytic) maxims which place the 
determining principle of the will in the desire of personal happiness 
are not moral at all, and no virtue can be founded on them. But the 
second is also impossible, because the practical connection of causes 
and effects in the world, as the result of the determination of the 
will, does not depend upon the moral dispositions of the will, but 
on the knowledge of the laws of nature and the physical power to 
use them for one's purposes ; consequently we cannot expect in the 
world by the most punctilious observance of the moral laws any 
necessary connection of happiness with virtue, adequate to the 
siimmnm bontun. Now as the promotion of this snmmiim bomim, 
the conception of which contains this connection, is a priori a neces- 
sary object of our will, and inseparably attached to the moral law, 
the impossibility of the former must prove the falsity of the latter. 
If then the supreme good is not possible by practical rules, then the 
moral law also which commands us to promote it is directed to vain 
imaginary ends, and must consequently be false." 

Kant's view, then, was that the supreme aim of the virtuous man 
is simpl}^ that of conforming to this law of reason — /. e., according to 
him, the law of formal consistency. He must not pursue virtue for 
the sake of happiness, but purely for the sake of duty. In this sense 
Kant inculcates self-sacrifice. But he does not regard self-sacrifice 
as the end. The end is conformity to law, obedience to reason. 
Further, Kant considers that though the virtuous man does not aim 
at happiness, yet the complete well-being^ of a human being in- 
cludes happiness as well as virtue. And apparently he thought that 
if we had no ground for believing that the two elements are ulti- 
mately conjoined, the ground of morality itself would be removed. 



1 This is what Kant denies : and it is only in this sense that he is 
fairly to be described as an ascetic, or as one who advocates self- 
sacrifice. 

^ Complete wQW-hting (bomim consummatum) as distinguished from 
supreme well-being {supremiim bonum). The supreme good is vir- 
tue : the complete good is virtue + happiness. See Critique of Prac- 
tical Reason, Part I., Book H., chap. ii. (Abbott's translation, p. 206). 
For a discussion of Kant's view on this point, see Caird's Critical 
Philosophy of Kant, Book H., chap, v. (vol. ii. pp. 289-314) 



THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 



205 



For morality rests on a demand of reason ; and the possibility of 
attaining the siunmiun honum is also a demand of reason. If the 
demands of reason were chimerical in the latter case, they would 
be equally discredited in the former.^ He solves the difficulty by 
postulating the existence of God, " as the necessary condition of the 
possibility of the siimmum bonum." 2 

From this it will be seen that Kant did not really regard self- 
sacrifice as the end. Indeed it may be doubted whether it has ever 
been regarded as an end by any serious school of moralists. Ben- 
tham, indeed (at least as represented by Dumont 3), contrasts his 
utilitarian theory with what he calls " the Ascetic Principle," saying 
of the latter that "those who follow it have a horror of pleasures. 
Everything which gratifies the senses, in their view, is odious and 
criminal. They found morality upon privations, and virtue upon 
the renouncement of one's self. In one word, the reverse of the 
partisans of utility, they approve everything which tends to diminish 
enjoyment, they blame everything which tends to augment it." 
But this description would evidently not apply to Kant,^ nor perhaps 
to any school of moralists, if we except some of the extremest of the 
Cynics.5 Bentham himself, in the passage from which the above 
extract is taken, does not refer to any philosophic writers, but only 
to the Jansenists and some other theologians. Even the Stoics ^ (to 
whom certainly Kant bears a strong resemblance did not regard 



1 Observe the close resemblance between Kant's view on this 
point and that of Butler. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 195-7. 
Kant, however, states the difficulty in a much more precise and pro- 
found form than that in which it is put by Butler. Kant's attempted 
solution, in like manner, is characterised by immeasurably greater 
speculative depth. 

2 Kant, loc. cit, section V. (Abbott, p. 221). 

3 Theory of Legislation, chap. ii. See also Principles of Morals and 
Legislation, chap. ii. 

4 There is, indeed, a passage in the Methodology of Pure Practical 
Reason (Abbott's translation, p. 254), in which Kant says that virtue 
is " worth so much only because it costs so much." But the context 
shows that his meaning is merely that the cost brings clearly to light 
the purity of the motive. 

s See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, p. 33-35. 

6 For an account of the Stoics, see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 
70-85. 

5^ C/, C^ivd'^ Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii. pp. 222-3, 



2o6 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III. 



the sacrifice of happiness as in itself a good. On the contrary, as 
Kant himself remarks,i both the Stoics and Epicureans were agreed 
in identifying virtue with happiness : only while the Epicureans 
held that the pursuit of happiness is virtue, the Stoics held, contrari- 
wise, that the pursuit of virtue is happiness.^ 

I have thought it desirable to dwell on this slight divergence be- 
tween my view on this point and that stated in Mr. Muirhead's 
ElcnientSy not for the purpose of emphasising my disagreement, but 
rather to bring out the fundamental identity of our views. For if the 
reader will turn to the passage in Mr. Muirhead's book, I think he 
will easily see that the difference between us is merely superficial. 
Although Mr. Muirhead treats of the Kantian Ethics under the head- 
ing " The End as Self-Sacrifice," and refers to it as illustrating the 
ascetic principle in morals, yet his actual treatment of Kant's funda- 
mental position does not, I think, materially differ from that suggested 
in the present manual. I am convinced, therefore, that our diver- 
gence on this point is little more than verbal. 

It is perhaps fair to add here that a partial reply to Schiller's ob- 
jections (referred to above, § 13) was made by Kant in his treatise 
on Religion within the Bounds of mere Reason.^ Kant there admits 
that a thoroughly virtuous man will love virtuous activities, and per- 
form them with pleasure ; but he regards this as a mere result of 
action from the sense of duty. The man who acts from a sense of 
duty has a feeling of pleasure gradually superinduced. This admis- 
sion obviates the grosser forms of the criticism that has been passed 
on Kant with regard to this point ; but it still leaves a fatal dualism 
between the law of reason and the affections of human kindness. 
In short, it still has the defect of emphasising the mere isolated good 
will instead of the good character. 4 Cf, above. Book I., chap, iii., § 2. 



1 Critique of Practical Reason, Part I., Book II., chap. ii. (Abbott's 
translation, p. 208). 

2 Or at least that a certain form of happiness is an inseparable 
accident of the pursuit of virtue. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, 
pp. 83-4. 

3 Cf also Metaphysical Elements of Ethics (Abbott's translation), pp^ 
312-13. 

4 The point that it is specially important to remember is, that Kant 
always insists that duty must not be done from inclination. He 
never denies that it may be done with inclination. Consequently, 
he is not properly an ascetic. 



§ 1.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 20/ 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 

§ 1. Introductory Remarks. — We thus see that the 
idea of a categorical imperative breaks down, or at 
least lands us in sheer emptiness. It tells us only that 
we must judge our actions from the point of view of a 
universal self, not from a private standpoint of our 
own, and that we must act in a way that is consistent 
with the idea of this higher self. All this is formal : * 

1 In saying that it is merely formal, I do not of course mean to 
deny its practical importance. In concrete life we constantly tend 
to judge ourselves and others by standards that are not of uni- 
versal application ; and Kant's formula is useful as a safeguard 
against this. Perhaps the following passage from Bryce's A merican 
Commonwealth (chap. Ixxv.) may serve to illustrate this danger. 
" All professions," he says, " have a tendency to develop a special 
code of rules less exacting than those of the community at large. 
As a profession holds certain things to be wrong, because contrary 
to its etiquette, which are in themselves harmless, so it justifies other 
things in themselves blamable. In the mercantile world, agents 
play sad tricks on their principals in the matter of commissions, and 
their fellow-merchants are astonished when the courts of law com- 
pel the ill-gotten gains to be disgorged. At the English Universities, 
everybody who took a Master of Arts degree was, until lately, 
required to sign the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England. 
Hundreds of men signed who did not believe, and admitted that 
they did not believe, the dogmas of this formulary ; but nobody in 
Oxford thought the worse of them for a solemn falsehood. . . . 
Each profession indulges in deviations from the established rules of 
morals, but takes pains to conceal these deviations from the general 
public, and continues to talk about itself and its traditions with an 
air of unsullied virtue. What each profession does for itself most 
individuals do for themselves. They judge themselves by them- 



2o8 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



we now wait for the content with which the form is to 
be filled. We have to ask, in short, what is the nature 
of the ideal self, and how it is constituted. 

§ 2. Higher and Lower Universes. — That certain 
forms of will are higher or better than others, may 
almost be said to be the fundamental assumption of 
Ethics. Now it follows from this that certain desires, 
or certain universes of desire, are higher or better than 
others. Thus it becomes a problem to determine v/hy 
it is that any desire or universe of desires should be 
regarded as higher or better than any other. The 
significance of this problem may perhaps be best in- 
dicated by suggesting a possible answer. It is obvious 
that some universes are more comprehensive than 
others. If a man acts from the point of view of the 
happiness of his nation as a whole, this is evidently a 
more comprehensive point of view than that from 
which he acts when he has regard only to his own 
happiness. The former includes the latter. So too, if 
a man acts from the point of view of his own happi- 
ness throughout the year, he acts from a more com- 
prehensive point of view than if he has regard only to 
the happiness of the passing hour. Now the narrower 
the point of view from which we act, the more certain 
we are to fall into inconsistency and self-contradiction. 

selves, that is to say, by their surroundings and their own past 
acts, and thus erect in the inner forum of conscience a more lenient 
code for their own transgressions than that which they apply to 
others. We all know that a fault which a man has often committed 
seems to him slighter than one he has refrained from and seen 
others committing. Often he gets others to take the same view. 
*It is only his way,' they say: 'it is just like Roger.' The same 
thing happens with nations." There is perhaps some cynicism in 
this ; but it contains sufficient truth to illustrate the present point 



3-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 20g 



If the universe within which we act is merely that of the 
passing hour, that universe will no longer be the dom- 
inant one when the hour is past; and then we shall 
find ourselves acting from some different, and perhaps 
inconsistent point of view. If, on the other hand, the 
universe within which we act is broad and compre- 
hensive, we may be able to maintain our point of 
view consistently through life, and also to apply it to 
the actions of others. The wider universe may, there- 
fore, be regarded as higher or better than the narrower 
one, since it enables us to maintain a more consistent 
point of view in our actions. From this consideration 
we may partly see why it is that one universe is to be 
regarded as higher or better than another. Still, this 
does not make it quite clear. For sometimes when we 
prefer one universe to another, the former does not 
include the latter, and is not obviously wider than it. 
What is the ground of preference in such cases we shall 
consider at a later point in this inquiry. But in the 
meantime, it may be well to notice a plausible expla- 
nation of the preference, which we shall see reason 
afterwards to reject. In such a subject as Ethics, 
erroneous doctrines are often almost as instructive as 
those that are correct. 

§ 3. Satisfaction of Desires. — When a desire attains 
the end to which it is directed, the desire is satisfied ; 
and this satisfaction is attended by an agreeable feel- 
ing ' — a feeling of pleasure, enjoyment, or happiness. 

1 1 follow Dr. James Ward and others in using the term " Feel- 
ing " for pleasure and pain. It is, however, a very ambiguous term, 
and I think the term " Affection," which is used by Prof. Titchener 
in his Outline of Psychology, is in many ways preferable. No one 
word seems wholly satisfactory 

Eth. 14 



2IO 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



On the other hand, when the end of a desire is not 
attained, we have a disagreeable feeling — a feeling of 
pain, misery, or unhappiness. Now if we act within a 
wide universe, or within a universe that includes de- 
sires that are continually recurring throughout life, we 
shall be acting in such a way as to satisfy our desires 
with great frequency, and so to have many feelings of 
pleasure. On the other hand, if we act within a nar- 
row universe, or one containing desires that do not 
often recur, we may have few satisfactions and a fre- 
quent occurrence of painful feelings. Now it seems 
plausible to say that, since what we aim at is the satis- 
faction of our desires, the best aim is that which will 
bring the greatest number of pleasures and the smallest 
number of pains. This consideration would supply us 
with a criterion of higher and lower universes. The 
highest universe within which we could act would be 
that which would supply us with the greatest number 
of pleasures and the smallest number of pains. The 
highest universe, in fact, would be that which is con- 
stituted by the consideration of our greatest happiness 
throughout life ; or, if we consider others as well as 
ourselves, by the consideration of the greatest happi- 
ness of the greatest number. This leads us to the con- 
sideration of Hedonism. 

§ 4. Varieties of Hedonism. — Hedonism is the general 
term for those theories that regard happiness or pleas- 
ure as the supreme end of life. It is derived from the 
Greek word rjdovrj, meaning pleasure. These theories 
have taken many different forms. It has been held 
by some that men always do seek pleasure, t. e. that 
pleasure in some form is always the ultimate object of 
desire ; whereas other Hedonists confine themselves 



§ 3-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 



211 



to the view that men ought always to seek pleasure. 
The former theory has been called by Prof. Sidgwick 
Psychological Hedonism, because it simply affirms the 
seeking of pleasure as a psychological fact ; whereas 
he describes the other theory as Ethical Hedonism. 
Again, some have held that what each man seeks, or 
ought to seek, is his own pleasure ; while others hold 
that what each seeks, or ought to seek, is the pleasure 
of all human beings, or even of all sentient creatures. 
Prof. Sidgwick has called the former of these views 
Egoistic Hedonism ; the latter, Universalistic Hedonism. 
The latter has also been called Utilitarianism — which, 
however, is a very inappropriate name.' Most of the 
earlier ethical Hedonists were also psychological 
Hedonists ; but this latter view has now been almost 
universally abandoned. Egoistic Hedonism has also 
been generally abandoned. Its chief upholders were 
the ancient Cyrenaics and Epicureans.^ Some more 
modern writers, however, — such as Bentham and Mill 
— did not clearly distinguish between egoistic and 
universalistic Hedonism, and consequently, though in 
the main supporting only the latter, often seemed to 
be giving their adhesion to the former. The student 
must be careful to distinguish between these different 
kinds of Hedonism : otherwise great confusion will 

1 See below, § 9. 

2 For an account of these see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 32-3, 
and pp. 82-90. See also Zeller's Socrates and the Socratic Schools, 
and Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics. Prof. Wallace's little volume 
on Epicureanism ("Chief Ancient Philosophies") is a most delight- 
ful book, which every student ought to read. Prof. Watson's 
Hedonistic Theories from Aristifpus to Spencer is also exceedingly 
interesting, and, though somewhat popular in its mode of treatment, 
is nearly always reliable. 



212 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV, 



result. Now the doctrine of Psychological Hedonism 
has already been considered in Book I. It is simply 
a statement of fact ; whereas Ethical Hedonism is a 
theory of Value, a theory of the ground upon which 
one form of action ought to be preferred to others. 

§ 5. Ethical Hedonism. — We have seen that the theory 
of psychological Hedonism is unsound. Ethical He- 
donism, however, does not stand or fall with this. 
On the contrary, as Dr. Sidgwick has pointed out,* 
ethical Hedonism is scarcely compatible with psycho- 
logical Hedonism, at least in its most extreme form. 
If we always did seek our own greatest pleasure, there 
would be no point in saying that we ought to seek it ; 
while, on the other hand, it would be absurd to say 
that we ought to seek the pleasure of others, except in 
so far as this could be shown to coincide with our own. 
Of course, if psychological Hedonism be merely inter- 
preted as meaning that we always do ^^^V pleasure of 
some sort, then ethical Hedonism may be understood 
as teaching that we ought to seek the greatest pleasure, 
whether our own or that of others. But, in any case, 
there is no necessary connection between the tv/o 
doctrines. 2 The confusion that has often been made 

1 MetJiods of Ethics, Book I., chap, iv., § i. 

2 It will be seen, therefore, that I do not agree with Mr. Muirhead 
{Elements of Ethics, p. 114) in regarding the psychological form of 
Hedonism as " also its logical form." At the same time, it should be 
observed that systems of ethical Hedonism (especially when egoistic) 
have nearly always been made to rest on psychological Hedonism. 
Nor is this necessarily inconsistent ; for most Hedonists (especially 
egoistic Hedonists) have denied any absolute "ought" as having 
authority over men's natural inclinations. They have regarded 
Ethics as simply laying down rules for the guidance of our actions, 
so as to secure the greatest possible gratification to our natural im- 
pulses. They have thought that by the introduction of adequate "sane- 



§5-] 



THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 



213 



between the two theories seems to be due in part to 
an ambiguity in the word ''"'desirable.'"' This point 
also may be illustrated by a passage from Alih. -'The 
only proof/' he says, ''*' capable of being given that an 
object is visible, is that people actually see it. The 
only proof that a sound is audible, is that people hear 
it. . . . In like manner, I apprehend, the sole evi- 
dence it is possible to produce that anything is desir- 
able, is that people do actually desire it. '* It is here 
assumed that the meaning of the word ''''desirable"' is 
analoofous to that of ''•' visible" and '^audible." But 
''visible''' means '''able to be seen," and ''''audible'' 
means '' able to be heard" ; whereas '''' desirable " does 
not usually mean '' '' able to be desired." When we say 
that anything is desirable, we do not usually mean 
merely that it is able to be desired. There is scarcely 
anything that is not able to be desired. What we 
mean is rather that it is reaso7iahIy to be desired^ or that 
it ought to be desired. When the Hedonist says that 
pleasure is the only thing that is desirable, he means 
that it is the only thing that ought to be desired. But 
the form of the word '''desirable" seems to have mis- 
led several writers into the notion that they ought to 

tions" (see below, Xote to Book HI., chap, vi.) the greatest pleasure 
of the community as a whole might be made coincident with the 
individual's greatest pleasure. Bentham was particularly explicit 
on this point, saying even, paradoxically, that the word " ought " 
" ought to be abolished." (But cf. Principles of Morals and Legisla- 
tion, chap, i., § 10.) But this view is, of course, incompatible with 
the admission 'now generally made by all Hedonists i that the 
gratification of our own inclinations may conflict with duty. If this 
is allowed, ethical Hedonism cannot rest on psychological. Cf, 
Gizycki's Introduction to the Study of Ethics, pp. 70 — 78. 
1 Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, xiii., § 5. 



214 ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. IV, 

show also that pleasure is the only thing that is capable 
of being desired.' The latter view is that of psycho- 
logical Hedonism, which seems clearly to be unsound. 
The former is that of ethical Hedonism, which we have 
still to examine. 

We have already stated that there are two forms of 
ethical Hedonism — egoisiic and universalistic. But be- 
fore w^e proceed to consider these, it will be well to 
indicate more precisely what the general meaning of 
ethical Hedonism is. 

§ 6. Quantity of Pleasure. — Hedonism is not merely 
the vague theory that we ought to seek pleasure. It 
states definitely that we ought to seek the greatest 
pleasure. Otherwise of course it would give us no 
criterion of right and wrong in conduct. Pleasure 
may be found by acting in the most contradictory 
ways. But when we are told to seek the ^r^tz/^s/ plea- 
sure, there can usually be but one course to follow. In 
estimating the quantity of pleasure, it is usually said 
that there are two points to be taken into account — 
intensity and duration,'^ Some pleasures are preferable 
to others because they last longer. Pains require also 

1 The fallacy here involved is that known to writers on Logic as 
the " Fallacy of Figure of Speech " {figiircv dictionis). See Whately's 
Logic, pp. 1 17-18, Davis's Theory of Thought, p. 270, Welton's Manual 
of Logic, vol. II., p. 243. Jevons {Elementary Lessons on Logic, p. 175) 
seems to have quite misunderstood this fallacy, as well as many 
others. 

2 In estimating the value of pleasures, there are, according to Ben- 
tham, some other qualities also which should be taken into account 
— viz. certainty, propinquity, fecundity (power of producing other 
pleasures), and purity (freedom from pain). He considered also 
that we should take account of their extent — /. e. the number of per- 
sons who participate in them. See his Principles of Morals and Legis- 
lation. He summed up his view in the following doggerel verses — 



7-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 21$ 



to be taken into account. Pain is simply the opposite 
of pleasure, and is consequently to be treated just as 
negative quantities are treated in mathematics. If a 
pleasure is represented by + a, the corresponding pain 
will be represented hy~a; and what we are to aim at 
is to secure the greatest sum of pleasures or the small- 
est sum of pains, pleasures being counted as positive 
and pains as negative. If there are three pleasures, 
valued respectively at 3, 4, and 5 ; 5 is to be preferred 
to either 3 or 4, 3 + 4 is to be preferred to 5, 3 + 5 to 
3 -f 4, and 4 -h 5 to 3 + 3. Again, if we have pains 
valued at - 3, - 4, - 3 ; - 3 is to be preferred to - 4, and 
- 4 to - 3. So too 3 - 3 is to be preferred to 4 - 3, and 
3 - 4 to 3 - 3 ; while between 4-3 and S - 4, or between 
3-3 and 4-4, there is no ground of preference. And 
so on. 

§ 7. Egoistic Hedonism. — Egoistic Hedonism is the 
doctrine that what each ought to seek is his own greatest 
pleasure. Almost the only writers who have held this 
doctrine in a pure form are the Cyrenaics and Epicu- 
reans. The writers of the former school, however, 
confined themselves to inculcating the pursuit of the 
pleasure of each moment as it passes — i, e. they did 
not take account of duration. The Epicureans in- 
culcated rather the endeavour to secure the happiness 

Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure, 
Such marks in pleasures and in pains endure. 
Such pleasures seek, if private be thy end ; 
If it be public, wide let them extoid. 
Such pai7is avoid, whichever be thy view ; 
If pains must come, let them extend to few." 

Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp, 240-1, and Dewey's Outi-ines of 
Ethics, pp. 36-7. 



2l6 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. IV. 



of life as a whole. In modern times, owing to the 
spirit of self-sacrifice introduced by Christianity, this 
doctrine has seldom been avowed in any form. Hobbes ^ 
and Gassendi are the chief modern writers who 
decidedly adopt this view ; and it is by them made to 
rest on psychological Hedonism. It appears also in a 
manner in Spinoza ; ^ but he subordinates it to a cer- 
tain metaphysical theory, which we cannot here con- 
sider. 

Egoistic Hedonism has always presented a repulsive 
appearance to the moral consciousness. Yet it is pos- 
sible to give it a plausible appearance, and even at the 
present time it is recognised by Dr. Sidgwick as an 
inevitable element in a complete system of Ethics. 
The reason why this should seem to be so is evident 
enough. It is clear that the end at which we are to 
aim must be some end that will give us satisfaction. 
When asked why we pursue any end, the only reason- 
able answer that can be given, is that it satisfies some 

1 For an account of Hobbes, see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 
163-170. It should be observed, however (what perhaps Dr. Sidg- 
wick does not sufficiently bring out), that the Egoism of Hobbes is 
much more pronounced than his Hedonism. It is even open to 
question whether he is strictly to be regarded as a Hedonist at all, 
though on the whole the answer seems to be in the affirmative. Cf, 
Croom Robertson's Hobbes, p. 136. Helvetius and Mandeville may 
perhaps also be classed as Egoistic Hedonists. See Lecky's History 
of European Morals, p. 6 sqq. But Mandeville can hardly be taken 
seriously. It should be added that scarcely any of these writers can 
be regarded as purely (or at least consistently) egoistic. Even 
Hobbes is led in the end to recognise a law of Reason (though of a 
very derivative character) bidding us have regard to the general 
good. See Croom Robertson's Hobbes, p. 14Z 

2 See Principal Caird's Spinoza, chaps, xii. and xiii. Spinoza's 
highest end was rather blessedness than pleasure. See below, § 9, 
Cc), and Chap. V„ § 14. 



§ 7.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 21/ 



demand of our nature ; and the only finally satisfac- 
tory answer that can be given, is .that it satisfies the 
most fundamental demand of our nature. For if we 
say that we pursue the end for some external reason — 
as, e. g. because we are commanded by some supe- 
rior authority — there still remains the question why we 
are to be influenced by that external reason. The only 
answer that leaves no further question behind it, is the 
answer that has reference to an ultimate demand of 
our nature. Now, when we are asked what it is that 
satisfies the ultimate demands of our nature, it is very 
natural to answer ''Pleasure." 

On consideration, however, it appears that, in giv- 
ing this answer, we are misled by the same ambiguity 
as that which we encountered in dealing with psycho- 
logical Hedonism. It is undoubtedly true that what- 
ever satisfies the ultimate demands of our nature will 
bring pleasure with it, and may consequently be de- 
scribed as a pleasure. But this pleasure must have 
some objective content, and that content is not itself 
pleasure. The object that gives us pleasure may be 
the pleasure of some one else, or it may be the welfare 
of our country, or it may be the fulfilment of what we 
conceive to be our duty. These things are pleasiwes — 
/. e. they are objects the attainment of which will bring 
us pleasure. But they are not themselves pleasure — 
i. e. agreeable feeling. Ilere, again, therefore, to say 
that we ought to seeV pleasures , is not to say that we 
ought to seek pleasure. 

Dr. Sidgwick, however, thinks^ that ''when we sit 
down in a cool hour " (as he says, quoting Butler), we 



^ Methods of Ethics, Book HI., chap. xiv. § 5 



2l8 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



perceive that there is nothing which it is reasonable to 
seek — i, e, nothing which is desirable in itself-^except 
pleasure. He then argues that since pleasure is the 
one desirable thing, the greatest pleasure must be the 
most desirable. A more intense pleasure is conse- 
quently to be preferred to a less intense, and a pleasure 
which lasts longer to one that is of shorter duration. 
Further, he urges that, in estimating our pleasures, a 
past or future pleasure ought, ccekris paribus^ to be 
regarded as of equal value with a present one. For 
mere difference of time ' can of itself make no dif- 
ference to the value of our pleasures. ^ All this is 
evidently true, on the assumption that pleasure is the 
one desirable thing. But there seems to be no warrant 
for this assumption. 3 

§ 8. Universalistic Hedonism. — Universalistic He- 
donism or Utilitarianism is the theory that what we 
ought to aim at is the greatest possible amount of 
pleasure of all human beings, or of all sentient crea- 
tures. The chief exponents of this theory are Bentham, 
J. S. Mill, and Professor Sidgwick. Bentham's proof 
of the theory is not very explicit,^ and may perhaps 
be considered to be sufficiently represented by that 
of Mill. Mill's argument is stated thus in the fourth 
chapter of his Utilitarianism : ''No reason can be given 
why the general happiness is desirable, except that 
each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, 

1 Apart from the nnceiiainfy which is generally connected with 
the lapse of time. Allowance w^ould, of course, have to be made 
for this. 

2 Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, xiii., § 3. 
^ ^f- § 5) ^rid see below, § 10. 

* Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 241-245. 



8.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 2ig 



desires his own happiness. This, however, being a 
fact, we have not only all the proof which the case 
admits of, but all which it is possible to require, that 
happiness is a good : that each person's happiness is a 
good to that person, and the general happiness, there- 
fore, a good to the aggregate of all persons/' He then 
goes on to argue that happiness is the only good, on 
the ground that we have already noticed — vis. that to 
desire a thing and to find it pleasant are but two ways 
of expressing the same thing. Now it would be diffi- 
cult to collect in a short space so many fallacies as are 
here committed. We have already noticed the confu- 
sion in the last point, due to the ambiguity in the word 
''pleasure." We have also noticed the confusion with 
regard to the meaning of ''desirable," which vitiates 
the first part of the argument It only remains to 
notice the fallacy involved in the inference that "the 
general happiness is a good to the aggregate of all per- 
sons. '' The fallacy is that which is known in logic as 
" the fallacy of composition. '' It is inferred that be- 
cause my pleasures are a good to me, yours to you, 
his to him, and so on, therefore my pleasures your 
pleasures ~\- his pleasures are a good to me -f- you + 
him. It is forgotten that neither the pleasures nor the 
persons are capable of being made into an aggregate. 
It is as if we should argue that because each one of a 
hundred soldiers is six feet high, therefore the whole 
company is six hundred feet high. The answer is that 
this would be the case if the soldiers stood on one 
another's heads. And similarly Mill's argument would 
hold good if the minds of all human beings were to be 
rolled into one, so as to form an aggregate. But as it 
is, • ' the aggregate of all persons " is nobody, and con- 



220 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. IV. 



sequently nothing can be a good to him. A good must 
be a good for somebody.' 

Dr. Sidgwick's proof is of a more satisfactory char- 
acter. He considers universalistic Hedonism to be 
established in the very same way as Egoistic Hedonism 
is established. 2 He thinks that he has shown that 
pleas-ure is the only thing that is in itself desirable. 
This being the case, pleasure is always to be chosen. 
And in the choice of pleasure, reason bids us be im- 
partial. The greatest attainable pleasure is always to 
be selected. In choosing our own pleasures, the future 
is to be regarded as of equal weight with the present. 
In like manner, also, the pleasures of others are to be 
regarded as of equal weight with our own. It might 
be thought that in this way Dr. Sidgwick had over- 
thrown egoistic Hedonism, and shown universalistic 
Hedonism to be the only reasonable Hedonistic system. 
But, for some reason which it is not easy to discover, 
he does not consider this to be the case. So far as 
can be made out, the reason seems to be that what is 
primarily our good is our own pleasure ; and it is only 
in a secondary way that we discover that the pleasure 
of others ought to be equally regarded. Now this 
secondary discovery cannot overthrow the first primary 
truth. Hence we are bound still to regard our own 
pleasure as a supreme good. For this reason Dr. Sidg- 
wick considers that there is a certain contradiction or 
dualism in the final recommendations of reason. We 
are bound to seek our own greatest pleasure, and yet 
we are bound also to seek the greatest pleasure of the 
aggregate of sentient beings. Now these two ends 

1 Cf. Bradley's Ethical Studies, p. 103. 

2 Methods of Ethics, Book IIL, chap, xiii., § 3. 



8.] 



THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 



221 



may not, and probably will not, coincide. There is 
thus a conflict between two different commands of 
reason. This conflict is referred to by Dr. Sidgwick 
as ''the Dualism of Practical Reason. But if there 
is any force in this consideration, it seems as if we 
might carry it further, and say that there is a similar 
conflict between the pursuit of our own greatest plea- 
sure at a given moment and the pursuit of the greatest 
happiness of life as a whole. For it is the pleasure of 
a given m.oment that appears to be primarily desirable. 
At any given moment what seems desirable is the 
satisfaction of our present wants. Consequently, on 
the same principle we might say that we are bound to 
seek the greatest pleasure of a given moment no less 
than the greatest pleasure of our whole life. There 
would thus be three kinds of Hedonism instead of two 
— the Cyrenaic view being recognised as well as the 
Epicurean and the Benthamite. However, it is per- 
haps scarcely worth while to consider which form of 
Hedonism is the most reasonable, as they seem all to 
be based on a misconception. 

Two points may be noted with regard to universal- 
istic Hedonism. In the first place, it used to be de- 
scribed as Utilitarianism, because it was supposed to 
inculcate the pursuit of what is useful. But it is now 
seen that pleasure is not more useful than any other 
possible end; and the name has consequently been 
dropped in scientific writings — though, for shortness, 

1 For Dr. Sidgwick's view on this point, see his Methods of Ethics, 
concluding chapter. Prof. Gizycki, who is to a large extent a fol- 
lower of Dr. Sidgwick, does not accept his doctrine on this point. 
See his criticism of the fourth edition of the Methods of Ethics in the 
International Journal of Ethics for October, 1890, 



222 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. IV. 



the term is still often used as a designation of the school. 
In the second place, the end of universalistic Hedonism 
used to be described as being the attainment of ''the 
greatest happiness of the greatest number. The mean- 
ing of this was, Mhat if we had to choose between a 
great happiness of a small number and a smaller hap- 
piness of a great number, we ought to prefer the latter, 
even if the total happiness were less. But it is now 
recognised that if pleasure is to be regarded as the 
good, we are bound to choose the greatest pleasure, 
even if it should be concentrated in a single person, 
instead of being distributed over a large number. 
Accordingly, this phrase has also been abandoned.^ 

§^ General Criticism of Hedonism, (a) Pleasure 
and Value. — We see now the general foundation on 
which the Hedonistic theory of Ethics rests. It may 
be based either on a psychological theory of the object 
of desire or on a theory of value. The former basis 
has been perhaps sufficiently discussed ; but on the 
latter some remarks must still be added. 

The general point of view is that, though our desires 
may often be directed to other objects than pleasure, 
yet, when we set ourselves calmly to consider the 
matter, we see that pleasure is that which alone con- 
stitutes the value for us of the objects of our experi- 

1 In so far as it had any definite meaning. The phrase seems to 
have been frequently employed without any definite meaning being 
attached to it. There is an interesting discussion of this point in 
Edgeworth's Mathematical Psychics, p. 117 sqq. 

2 It should be observed that Bentham himself seems, in his later 
years, to have discarded the expression " of the greatest number.' 
His reasons for doing so (which are not very clearly explained) may 
be found in Burton's Introduction to Benikam!^ Works, pp. i8. and 19, 
fiote. 



§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 223 



ence. A psychosis (to use Prof. Huxley's term/ 
adopted by recent psychologists), i e. a state of con- 
sciousness, is valuable for us exactly in proportion as 
it is pleasant. Consequently, though the impulse of 
desire may sometimes move towards the less pleasant 
of two possible objects ; and though, therefore, we 
cannot say that our desires are always moved simply 
by the calculation of pleasure ; yet, when we reflect 
calmly, and from a purely egoistic point of view, we 
see that the only reasonable ground of preference be- 
tween two psychoses is that the one is more pleasurable 
than the other. Hence, though it is not true that we 
always act in such a way as to secure for ourselves the 
pleasantest of possible psychoses, yet we ought {u e. 
it is reasonable) to secure for ourselves the most plea- 
sant, so long as this does not interfere with the pleasure 
of any one else ; and, in general, we ought to act in 
such a way as to make the sum of the pleasures of all 
psychoses, present and future, as great as possible. 

Now it is true, I think, that pleasure may fairly be 
described as a sense of value. Mr. Bradley has said 3 

1 Huxley's Hume, p. 62. 

2 Cf, Dewey's Psychology, p. 16. I mean that it is truer to call 
pleasure a sense of value than to represent it as constituting value. 
But even to call it a sense of value involves a kind of anticipation. 
In sensuous pleasure, for instance, we can hardly be said to have 
any consciousness of value. The general subject of the relation 
between pleasure and value is, however, too complicated to be dis- 
cussed here. I have made some attempt to deal with it in a Note on 
Value at the end of Chap. IV. of my Introduction to Social Philosophy. 
Cf. also *• Notes on the Theory of Value " in Mind, New Series, Vol. 
IV., no. 16. 

3 Ethical Studies, p. 234. Mr. Bradley has since abandoned this 
view. The element of truth in it seems to lie in the fact that 
pleasure consists in a certain harmony of the content of conscious- 



224 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



that pleasure is essentially the feeling of self-realised- 
ness/' Exception might be taken to this, on the ground 
that it can scarcely be applied to the feelings of ani- 
mals, or to the more animal pleasures of men. But at 
any rate we may say that the feeling of pleasure is the 
accompaniment of objects which have a certain value » 
for the consciousness to which they are presented. It 
is of some importance, I think, to remember that it is 
the objects, not the feelings of pleasure, that have 
value — the feeling of pleasure being the sense of value, 
not the z'a/^/^ itself ; but with this point we need not 
here trouble ourselves. It is sufficient to note that, 
from this point of view, it seems at least plausible to 
say that, though pleasure is not the direct object of 
desire, and though it is not even in itself that which 
has value for us, yet it may be accepted as the measure 
of value ; just as the degrees of a thermometer, though 
not themselves heat, may be taken as the measure of 
heat ; or as a token currency, though of little value in 
itself, may serve to measure the values of commodi- 
ties. 

This, I say, is a plausible view. But it evidently 
rests on the assumption that pleasures are all of the 
same sort ; just as the power of money to serve as a 
measure of the values of goods rests on the assumption 
of a certain uniformity in the currency. If the sense 

ness with the form of unity within which it falls. But this form of 
unity need not be a definite consciousness of self and its realization. 

1 Wherein this value consists, we are not here called upon to de- 
cide. It may lie, as many psychologists have supposed, in a certain 
heightening of general vitality or of particular vital functions. On 
the general nature of pleasure and pain, and their place in our con- 
scious life, the student may be referred to Mr. Stout's Analytic Psy- 
chology chap. xii. 



9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 22$ 



of value which we have in pleasant feeling is to be 
taken as the measure of the values which we reasonably 
attach to the different objects that are presented to our 
consciousness, this implies that the values are always 
judged by the same standard, always presented, so to 
speak, before the same court of appeal. Or (taking Mr. 
Bradley's phrase) if pleasure is the feeling of self-rea- 
lisedness, then in taking pleasure as the measure of 
our self-realisation, we assume that it is always the 
sajue self that is realised. But is this the case Be- 
fore considering this point any further, it may be 
well to notice the form in which it was presented by 
Mill. 

[b) Quality of Pleasures. — We may say briefly that 
the Hedonistic theory proceeds on the assumption that 
all pleasures are capable of being quantitatively com- 
pared — that it is always possible to determine with 
regard to two pleasures, or two sums of pleasures, 
w^hich is the greater and which is the less. On this point 
a serious difficulty was raised^ hyj. S. Mill, who called 
attention to the fact that pleasures differ not merely in 
quantity but also in quality — that some pleasures are 
preferable to others, not because as pleasures they are 
greater, but because they are of a more excellent kind. 
If this is the case, it is evident that the Hedonistic 
theory must be abandoned, for it is then no longer true 
that pleasure is the only desirable thing. One pleasure 
is, on this view, more desirable than another, not on 
account of its nature as pleasure, but on account of 
some other quality that it possesses, beyond its mere 

1 Utilitarianism, chap. ii. He did not, indeed, raise the point as a 
difficulty, but rather as indicating a way out of a difficulty. But 
evidently it is a difficulty from the Hedonistic point of view. 



226 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



pleasantness. Further, if we admit differences of 
quality, it becomes impossible to place pleasures, and 
sums of pleasure, in any precise order of desirability. 
Qualities cannot be estimated against quantities, unless 
in some way they can be reduced to quantities — and 
this, on Miirs supposition, is not the case. It becomes 
important, therefore, to consider whether there really 
are qualitative differences among pleasures. In order 
to do this, we must recur to some of the points that 
were discussed in a former chapter. 

(c) Kinds o/ Pleasure. — At the beginning of Book I. 
we distinguished between appetites and desires, and we 
pointed out also that desires may belong to a great 
variety of distinct universes. Now just as there is a dis- 
tinction between different kinds of desire, so there is a 
distinction between the feelings of satisfaction which 
accompany the attainment of their objects. When an 
appetite is satisfied, the feeling of satisfaction is simple 
and immediate. It is to this kind of feeling that the term 
pleasure is perhaps most properly applied. On the 
other hand, the feeling which accompanies the satis- 
faction of desire is of a more intellectual or reflective 
character, and ought perhaps rather to be described as 
happiness. Human desire involves the more or less 
direct consciousness of an end, and in the feeling v/hich 
accompanies its satisfaction there is also a more or less 
direct consciousness of an end attained. These feel- 
ings vary greatly, according to the nature of the uni- 
verse within which we are living at the time when the 
desire is satisfied. The feelings of satisfaction that 
belong to the universe of self-interest are very different 
from those that belong to the universe of duty ; those 
that belong to the universe of animal enjoyment are 



9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 



very different from those that belong to the universe 
of poetic or religious emotion. Carlyle has suggested ' 
that, in the case of such higher universes as these, the 
feeling ought to be described rather as blessedness ^ 
than as happiness. At any rate, whether or not we 
use different words for the different universes, it seems 
clear that the feelings in question are of very different 
characters. It is, in fact, a very different self that is 
realised in each of these cases ; and the feeling of self- 
realisedness is consequently different. Or, to put it in 
the other form that we have used, the sense of value 
in each case is a sense of value for a different judge. 
We are estimating, as it were, sometimes in gold, 
sometimes in silver, and sometimes in copper. Now 
it might be possible, no doubt, to find a common 
denominator for these : but this common denominator 
does not seem to be supplied in the feeling of pleasure 
itself. 

There is, however, a difficulty which is apt to pre- 
sent itself at this point. It is apt to be thought that 
what is different in these different cases is not the 
feeling itself, but merely the object on which the 
feeling depends. This is the point that we have next 
to consider. 

(d) Pleasure inseparable from its Object, — Pleasure, 
it must be remembered, is not an entity, having an ex- 
istence by itself, independently of the object in which 
pleasure is felt, or of the unity of consciousness to 

1 Sador Resartus, Book 11., chap. ix. 

2 Spinoza also seems to use the term bcatihido in this sense. This 
form of happiness is found, according to Spinoza, in the Intellec- 
tual Love of God," /. e. in the appreciation of the universe as the 
realization of a spiritual principle. Cf. also Janet's Theory of Morals, 
Book I., chap. ix. 



228 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



which that object is presented. It is an element in a 
total state of consciousness, and is entirely relative to 
the other elements in that state. It is the inner side 
of that of which the other elements may be said to 
form the outer side. The sharp distinction that we 
are apt to draw between an object of consciousness 
and the feeling of pleasure or pain which accom- 
panies it, is due largely to an inadequate apprehension 
of the nature of the object which is presented to our 
consciousness. Take, for instance, the pleasure which 
accompanies the hearing of a musical performance. 
The pleasure here is evidently quite distinct from the 
music which we hear. But it must be remembered 
that the music which we hear is not the total object 
that is before our consciousness. The hearing of the 
music is accompanied by all sorts of ideas which it 
calls up in our minds. It is accompanied a>lso by 
other ideas which were passing through our minds 
before the music commenced. The object which is 
before our consciousness is a complex total of in- 
numerable thoughts and images. Now the feeling of 
pleasure is not this complex total ; but neither can it 
be said to be anything that is separable from that 
total. It is the inner side to which that total corre- 
sponds as the outer side. Given that total, we could 
not but have that feeling of pleasure. Change that 
total, and our feeling of pleasure must also be 
changed. The total content of our consciousness in 
listening to a piece of music is different from the total 
content in reading a novel or witnessing a dramatic 
performance : the feeling of pleasure is also different. 
The feeling and the object to which it corresponds are 
like the two sides of a curve. They are distinguishable 



§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 229 



from one another ; yet they are inseparable, and the 
one necessarily varies with the other.' 

(e) Pleasures cajinot he Summed, — It follows from 
this that there cannot be any calculus of pleasures — 

i, e. that the values of pleasures cannot be quanti- 
tatively estimated. For there can be no quantitative 
estimate of things that are not homogeneous. But, 
indeed, even apart from this consideration, there 
seems to be a certain confusion in the Hedonistic idea 
that we ought to aim at a greatest sum of pleasures. 
If pleasure is the one thing that is desirable, it is clear 
that a sum of pleasures cannot be desirable ; for a 
sum of pleasures is not pleasure. We are apt to think 
that a sum of pleasures is pleasure, just as a sum of 

1 Dr. Sidgwick has replied to this objection, as stated b}^ Green. 
" It is sometimes said," he remarks {Metliods of Ethics, Book H., chap. 

ii. , § 2, note) "that 'pleasure as feeling, in distinction from its con- 
ditions which are not feelings, cannot be conceived.' This is true in 
a certain sense of the word 'conceive ' ; but not in any sense which 
would prevent us from taking pleasure as an end of rational action. 
To adopt an old comparison, it is neither more nor less true than the 
statement that an angle cannot be ' conceived ' apart from its sides. 
We certainly cannot form the notion of an angle without the notion of 
sides containing it ; but this does not prevent us from apprehending 
with perfect definiteness the magnitude of any angle as greater or less 
than that of any other, without any comparison of the pairs of con- 
taining sides. Similarly' we cannot form a notion of any pleasure 
existing apart from some ' conditions which are not feelings ' ; but 
this is no obstacle to our comparing a pleasure felt under any given 
conditions with any other, however otherwise conditioned, and pro- 
nouncing it equal or unequal : and we require no more than this to 
enable us to take ' amount of pleasure ' as our standard in deciding 
between alternatives of conduct." But this reply seems to involve a 
misconception of the precise nature of the criticism. The length 
of the sides makes no difference to the size of the angle ; whereas 
Green's argument is that the nature of the objects makes all the 
difference in the world to the kind of pleasure that we feel. 



230 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV. 



numbers is a number. But this is evidently not the 
case. A sum of pleasures is not pleasure, any more 
than a sum of men is a man. For pleasures, like men, 
cannot be added to one another. Consequently, if 
pleasure is the only thing that is desirable, a sum of 
pleasures cannot possibly be desirable. If the Hedon- 
istic view were to be adopted, we ought always to 
desire the greatest pleasure — e, we ought to aim at 
producing the most intense feeling of pleasure that it 
is possible to reach in some one's consciousness.* 
This would be the highest aim. A sum of smaller 
pleasures in a number of different people's conscious- 
nesses, could not be preferable to this ; because a sum 
of pleasures is not pleasure at all. The reason why 
this does not appear to be the case, is that we 
habitually think of the desirable thing for man not as 
a feeling of pleasure but as a continuous state of hap- 
piness. But a continuous state of happiness is not a 
mere feeling of pleasure. It has a certain objective con- 
tent. Now if we regard this content as the desirable 
thing, we do not regard the feeling of pleasure as the 
one thing that is desirable ; /. e, we abandon Hedonism. 

(/) Matter without Form. — We may sum up the de- 
fects of Hedonism by saying that it has the opposite 

1 Just as, if our object were to produce the greatest man (instead 
of the greatest pleasure), Falstaff would have to be preferred to the 
whole of his ragged company. We may calculate, no doubt, that 
nine tailors make a man ; but that is only on the assumption that 
our object is not man as such, but the fulfilment of certain functions 
of a man. It might be said that in a number of men there is more 
flesh and blood and bone than in oue. But this is to measure flesh, 
blood, and bone, not men. So it is possible that in a number of 
pleasant experiences there is more of something than there is in 
one. But they are not a greater pleasure. 



§9.] 



THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 23 1 



fault to that which we found in the system of Kant. 
Kant's principle of self-consistency gave us form with- 
out matter — the mere form of reason, with all the par- 
ticular content of the desires left out. Hedonism, 
on the other hand, gives us matter without form. It 
takes up all the desires as they stand, and regards the 
satisfaction of all as having an equal right, in so far as 
the pleasant feeling accompanying the satisfaction is 
equally intense and lasts equally long. This view 
ignores the fact that what we really seek to satisfy 
is not our desires but ourselves ; and the value of our 
satisfactions depends on the kind of self to which the 
satisfaction is given — e. it depends on the universe 
within which the satisfaction is received. It may be 
mere animal pleasure : it may be human happiness : 
it may be saint-like bliss. To consider it in this way 
is to consider our desires with reference to their form 
— with reference to the universe in which they have a 
place. Hedonism ignores this form. It looks on our 
desires and their gratifications simply as quantities 
of raw material. It regards our wants as so many 
mouths to be filled, and the pleasures of their satisfac- 
tion as so many lumps of sugar to go into them. It 
is matter without form.' 

1 For further criticism on Hedonism, I may refer to Bradley's 
Ethical Studies, Essay HI., Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book HI., 
chap, i., and Book IV., chaps, iii. and iv., Sorley's Ethics of Natural- 
ism, Part I., chap, iii., Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, Book 
II., Part I., chap, v., § 2, Janet's Theory of Morals, Book I., chap, iv., 
Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 14-67, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, 
Book III., chap. i. See also Watson's Hedonistic Theories from 
Aristlppus to Spencer, and the article by tProf. James Seth, "Is 
Pleasure the Summum Bonum ?" in the International Journal of 
Ethics, Vol. VI., no. 4. For a fuller statement of my own view on this 
subject, I may refer to my Introduction to Social Philosophy ^ch^i^, iv. 



232 



ETHICS. 



[bK. II., CIL IV. 



§ 10. Relation of Happiness to the Self. — But 
though we thus seem bound to reject the Hedonistic 
theory, we must not overlook the importance of hap- 
piness. If happiness is not exactly our beings end 
and aim,'' it is yet certain that we cannot attain the end 
of our being without attaining happiness. All that we 
have to insist on is that in seeking happiness w^e must 
observe exactly w^hat kind of happiness it is that we 
seek. Happiness is relative to the nature of the being 
who enjoys it. The happiness of a man is different from 
the happiness of a beast : the happiness of a wise man 
is different from the happiness of a fool. What con- 
stitutes our happiness, in fact, depends on the universe 
in which we live. The smaller our universe, the more 
easily is our happiness attained. 

" That low man seeks a little thing to do, 
Sees it and does it : 
This high man, with a great thing to pursue, 
Dies ere he knows it." 

It is indisputable," as Mill says, ^ that the being 
whose capacities of enjoyment are low, has the greatest 
chance of having them fully satisfied : and a highly 
endowed being will always feel that any happiness 
w^hich he can look for, as the world is constituted, is 
imperfect. But he can learn to bear its imperfections 
if they are at all bearable ; and they will not make him 
envy the being who is indeed unconscious of the im- 
perfections, but only because he feels not at all the 
good which those imperfections qualify. It is better 
to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied ; 
better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." 
What is important, then, is not that we should seek the 
1 Utilitarianism ^ chap, ii. 



§11.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 



greatest sum of happiness, but the best kind of happi- 
ness. We can only have the highest happiness/' said 
George Eliot,' — such as goes along with being a great 
man — by having wide thoughts, and much feeling for 
the rest of the world as well as ourselves ; and this sort 
of happiness often brings so much pain with it that we 
can only tell it from pain by its being what we would 
choose before everything else, because our souls see 
it is good/' The nature of the highest happiness, then, 
depends not on its being the greatest sum, but on its 
belonging to the highest kind of character. That is, 
it depends on the nature of the self, on the nature 
of the universe within which we habitually live. To 
attain the highest happiness, then, we must live habit- 
ually in the highest kind of universe, and the desires 
that belong to that universe must be satisfied. 

§ 11. Self-realisatiox as the End. — We seem, how- 
ever, to be very little farther on than we were at the 
beginning of this chapter. For at the beginning of the 
chapter we propounded the question, how we were to 
distinguish a higher universe from a lower; and this 
question is still unanswered. We have only been 
enabled to see that quantity of pleasure cannot furnish 
the criterion, and that we must look for the criterion 
rather in the nature of the character itself. We see, in 
fact, that the end must consist in some form of self- 
realisation, e, in some form of the development of 
character — that the end, in short, ought to be described 
rather as perfection than as happiness. What per- 
fection or self-realisation consists in, we must endea- 
vour to find out in the following chapter. 



^ Epilogue to Romola. 



234 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. V. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 

§1. Application OF Evolution TO Morals. — The idea 
that the end at which we are to aim is the realisation 
of the self or the development of character, leads us at 
once to regard the moral life as a process of growth. 
Although this idea has often been applied to the moral 
life in former ages, yet it is chiefly in recent times that 
the conception has been made prominent. The whole 
idea of growth or development — the idea of ''evolu- 
tion/' as it is often called — may almost be said to be a 
discovery of the present century. It was first brought 
into prominence by Hegel and Comte ; it was applied 
by Lamarck, Darwin, and others, to the origin of 
species ; while Mn Spencer and others have extended 
its applications to the origin of social institutions, 
forms of government, and the like, and even to the 
formation of the solar and stellar systems. With these 
applications we are not here concerned. We have to 
deal only with the application of the idea of evolution 
to morals. And even with this application we have to 
deal only in a certain aspect. We are not concerned at 
present with the fact that the moral life of individuals 
and nations undergoes a gradual growth or develop- 
ment in the course of years or ages. This is a fact of 
moral history, whereas here we are concerned only 
with the theory of that which is essential to the very 



2.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 235 



nature of morality. When we say, then, that the idea 
of evolution is applicable to the moral life, we mean 
that the moral life is, in its very essence, a growth or 
development. The sense in which it is so will, it is 
hoped, become apparent as we proceed. ^ 

§ 2. Development of Life. — We may say, to begin 
with, that what we mean is this. There is in the 
moral life of man a certain end or ideal, to which he 
may attain, or of which he may fall short ; and the signi- 
ficance of his life consists in the pursuit of this end 
or ideal, and the gradual attainment of it. We may 
illustrate what we mean by reference to the forms of 
animal life. Among animals there are some that we 
naturally regard as standing higher in the scale of being 
than others. We judge them to be higher by reference 
to a certain (it may be a somewhat vague) standard 
that we have in our minds — whether it be, as with Mr. 
Herbert Spencer, the standard of adaptation to their 
environment, or the standard of approximation to the 
human type, or whatever else it may be. Now if 
we are right in supposing that there is a continuous 
development going on throughout the species of animal 
existence, the main significance of this development 
will lie in the evolution of forms of life that approach 
more and more nearly to the standard or ideal type. 
Similarly, the evolutionary theory of Ethics is the view 
that there is a standard or ideal of character, and that 
the significance of the moral life consists in the grad- 
ual approximation to that type. 

§ 3. Higher and Lower Views of Development. — In 
all development there is a beginning, a process, and an 
end. The developing thing starts from a certain level 
and moves onwards towards a higher level. Now in 



236 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V. 



general what is presented to us is neither the beginning 
nor the end, but the process. The lowest forms of 
animal life do not often come before our notice, and 
the nature of the lowest of all is quite obscure. Nor 
do we know what possibilities there may be of still 
further development in the forms of animal life. The 
starting-point and the goal are alike concealed from 
us : we see only the race. So it is also with the moral 
life. The earliest beginnings of the moral conscious- 
ness are hidden in obscurity ; and, on the other hand, 
we can scarcely form a clear conception of a perfectly 
developed moral life. We know it only in the course 
of its development Nevertheless, we cannot under- 
stand the process except by reference either to its 
beginning or to its end. And we may endeavour to 
understand it by reference either to the one or to the 
other. Hence there are two possible methods of inter- 
preting the moral life, if we adopt the theory of devel- 
opment. We may explain it by reference to its begin- 
ning or to its end. The former is perhaps the more 
natural method ; as it is most usual to explain pheno- 
mena by their causes and mode of origination. But 
further consideration seems to show that this is in reality 
the lower and less satisfactory method. Let us con- 
sider briefly the nature and merits of the two methods. 

§ 4. Explanation by Beginning. — It seems most 
natural at first to endeavour to explain the moral life 
by tracing it back to its origin in the needs of savages, 
or even in the struggles of the lower animals. It is in 
this way that we explain ordinary natural phenomena, 
such as the formation of geological strata, and even the 
growth and decline of nations. We go back to the 
beginning^ or as near to the beginning as we can get, 



§5-] 



THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 



and trace the causes that have been in operation 
throughout the development of the object of our study. 
We do not inquire what the end of it will be. To 
inquire into this would, in general, throw little, if any, 
light upon its actual condition. Ought not the develop- 
ment of morals to be studied in the same way ? The 
answer seems clear. The science of Ethics, as we 
have already pointed out, occupies quite a different 
point of view from that of the natural sciences. It is 
not concerned with the investigation of origins and 
with the tracing of history, but with the determination 
of ideals and the consideration of the way in which 
these ideals influence conduct. Now the ideal lies at 
the end rather than at the beginning. In dealing with 
natural phenomena we are concerned primarily with 
what IS, and secondarily with the way in which it has 
come to be what it is. In Ethics, on the other hand, 
it is of comparatively little interest to know what is. ^ 
*'Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.'' It is what 
he hopes to be that determines the direction of his 
growth. The meaning of this, however, may become 
clearer if we direct attention for a little to the theory of 
one of the most eminent of those recent writers who 
have endeavoured to deal with the moral life by tracing 
it back to its origin. 

§ 5. Mr. Herbert Spencer's View of Ethics. — Mr. 
Herbert Spencers theory on this subject is contained 
in a very interesting book entitled The Data of Ethics.'^ 
To give any complete account of the contents of that 

1 /. e. what is in the purely natural history sense, in which we say 
that the lion /s, while the unicorn is not. In the deeper sense, of 
course, Ethics is concerned with what is — viz. with what man's fun- 
damental nature is. Cf. above, chap. iii. of the present Book, § 3. 

2 Now Part I. of his larger book, The Principles of Ethics. 



238 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V. 



book would be quite impossible here ; but the follow- 
ing may be taken as indicating its drift. ' Mr. Spencer 
begins by trying to determine what we mean by con- 
duct, and what we mean by calling conduct good or 
bad. He examines this question by going back to the 
life of the lower animals. In all life there is what may 
be called conduct, and in all life it may be good or 
bad. Now the essence of life, as seen in its lowest 
forms, consists, according to Mr. Spencer, in *'the 
continuous adjustment of internal relations to external 
relations " — /. e. the constant effort of an organism to 
adapt itself to its environment. All conduct tends 
either to promote or to hinder such adaptation. In so 
far as it tends to promote it, it is good : in so far as it 
tends to hinder it, it is bad. Good conduct produces 
pleasure, because it brings the organism into harmony 
with its surroundings. Bad conduct produces pain. 
Nearly all conduct is partly good and partly bad. 
Perfectly good conduct would be that which produces 
only pleasure with no accompanying pain. But con- 
duct is relatively good when it tends on the whole to 
produce a surplus of pleasure over pain — i e. when it 
tends on the whole to produce a more perfect ad- 
justment of organism to environment. The supreme 
moral end is to help on the process of development, 
which consists in a more and more perfect adjustment 
of internal relations to external relations. 

§ 6. Criticism of Mr. Spencer's View. — Now this 
theory is in many ways suggestive. It helps to bring 
the study of the moral life into co-ordination with the 
study of life generally ; and this is in harmony with 
the whole development of modern scientific thought, 
1 C/. Sidgwick's History of Ethics^ pp, 254-257, 



6.] 



THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 



which leads us to believe that there are no absolute 
divisions between the various objects of our knowledge, 
and that we are never likely to fully understand any 
one of these objects without bringing it into relation 
to all the rest. Yet a little reflection seems to show 
that Mr. Spencer's theory involves a kind of vtrrepou 
Tzporepov, or putting the cart before the horse. For what 
is meant by saying that the development of our lives 
means a continuous process of adjustment to our 
environment ? It is easy to see that in a certain sense 
such a process is continually going on. The progress 
of our knowledge means that we are constantly adjust- 
ing our ideas more and more to the objective realities 
of nature. In like manner, the advance of the arts 
means that we are gradually learning to adjust our 
modes of life to the necessities imposed upon us by 
the conditions of the external world. And so in 
morals, in so far as we can claim to have ''sweeter 
manners, purer laws'' than our forefathers, in so far as 
we have wider ideas of what is required of us, and are 
more conscientious in meeting these requirements, all 
this means that we are adjusting our modes of life 
more and more to the necessities of the case. But 
what exactly is implied in this adjustment? Does it 
not imply, above everything, that we have certain 
ends that we set before ourselves to be attained ? 
When we say that two things are not adjusted to one 
another, we imply that we have some idea of a relation 
in which the two things ought to stand and in which 
at present they do not stand. In a sense everything is 
adjusted to everything else. Death is an adjustment. 
A living being is conscious of a certain want of adjust- 
ment only because it has certain definite aims. The 



240 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. V. 



scientific man perceives that his ideas are not fully 
adjusted to the facts of nature, and he pursues j^now- 
ledge in order that he may adjust them more com- 
pletely ; but a stone is adjusted to its environment 
without the need of any such effort.^ The scientific 
man is aware of a want of adjustment simply because 
he is aware of an unattained end — in other words, 
because he brings an ideal with him to which the world 
does not conform. But if this be so, then surely we 
ought to turn the statement the other way about. We 
ought not to say that the deficiency of living beings, 
which the development of their lives is gradually 
removing, consists in the fact that they are not 
adjusted to their environment ; but rather, at leiist in 
the case of self-conscious beings, that the deficiency 
consists in the fact that their environment is not 
adjusted to them. For it is not in the environment, but 
in themselves, that the standard lies, with reference to 
which a deficiency is pronounced. If a man were 
content to let the world slide,'' he would soon enough 
become adjusted to his environment ; it is because he 
insists on pursuing his own ends that the process of 
adjustment is a hard one. It is because he wants to 
adjust his environment to himself; or rather, because 
he wants to adjust both himself and his surroundings 
to a certain ideal of what his life ought to be. Even in 
the case of the lower animals, indeed, it w^ould often 
be as true to say that they adjust their environment 
to themselves as that they adjust themselves to their 
environment. In any case, adjustment seems to have 
no meaning unless we presuppose some ideal form of 
adjustment, some end that is consciously or uncon- 
1 C/. Prof. Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, pp. 271-2. 



/.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 24I 



sciously sought. But if so, then it is surely rather with 
the idea of this end that we ought to start than with 
the mere idea of the process of adjustment, in which 
the end is presupposed. Though it seems natural to 
begin at the beginning in our explanation and move 
on, through the process, to the end ; yet since in this 
case it is the end by which the process is determined, 
it is rather at the end that we ought to begin. ^ 

§ 7. Views of other Evolutioxists. — Mr. Spencer's 
theory is distinguished from that of most other writers 
of the evolutionist school by the distinctness with 
which he recognises an ultimate and absolute end to 
which conduct is directed. Although he begins his 
explanation from below, from the beginning, from the 
simplest forms of life, he yet leads up to the concep- 
tion of an absolute end. Hence he insists on the 
need of treating Ethics from a teleological point 
of view ^ ; and indeed carries his conception of an 
ultimate end so far that he even propounds the idea 
of an absolute system of Ethics, not relating to the 
present world at all, but rather to a world in which 
the adjustment to environment shall have been com- 
pletely brought about. 3 Most other evolutionists have 
repudiated this absolute Ethics, ^ and have also avoided 
the statement of any absolute end to which we are 
moving. Thus, Mr. Leslie Stephen seems to content 

1 For a more complete discussion of Spencer's doctrine, see Sor- 
ley's Ethics of Naturalism, especially pp. 203-220, Alexander's Moral 
Order and Progress, pp. 266-277, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 
136-159, and Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 67-78, and pp. 142-146. 

^ Data of Ethics, pp. 304-5. 

8 See Dr. Sidgwick's account of this. History of Ethics, p. 256. 
4 See, for instance, Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 430, Alexander's 
Moral Order and Progress, p. 270. 

Eth. 16 



242 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V. 



himself with the idea of health or efficiency, ''A moral 
rule is a statement of a condition of social welfare."* 
Virtue means efficiency with a view to the maintenance 
of social equilibrium.^ This theory does not require 
any view of an ultimate end to which society is mov- 
ing ; but simply takes society as it finds it, and regards 
its preservation and equilibrium as the end to be aimed 
at. 3 Prof. Alexander adopts a view w^hich is sub- 
stantially the same. Thus he says/ ''An act or person 
is measured by a certain standard or criterion of con- 
duct, which has been called the moral ideal. This 
moral ideal is an adjusted order of conduct, which is 
based upon contending inclinations and establishes 
an equilibrium between them. Goodness is nothing 
but this adjustment in the equilibrated whole." This 
view of Ethics bears a close relation to the doctrine of 
the development of animal life which was set forth by 
Darwin. According to Darwin's view, the develop- 
ment of animal species takes place by means of a 
' ' struggle for existence, " in which ' ' the fittest " survive. 
This process is commonly referred to as one of ''nat- 
ural selection." In the same way, the view of Mr. 
Stephen and Prof. Alexander is that in the moral life 
there is a process of natural selection in which the 
most efficient, or the most perfectly equilibrated type 
of conduct is preserved. The connection between 

1 Science of Ethics, p. 450. 2 ihid.^ pp. 79-81, &c. 

3 C/. the statement of Mr. Stephen's theory in Sidgwick's History 
of Ethics, p. 257. Of course, on such a view, any actual state of 
society is regarded as being only partly in equilibrium ; and the end 
aimed at may be said to be a condition of perfect equilibrium. But 
the writers referred to do not attempt to give any positive account of 
what would be involved in such an equilibrium. 

* Moral Order and Progress, p, 399. 



§8.] 



THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 



243 



this theory and that of Darwin has been well worked 
out by Prof. Alexander in a recent article on * * Natural 
Selection in Morals " ' ; and as this seems to me to 
contain perhaps the best summary statement that we 
have in English ^ of the attempt to explain morality 
from below, it may be worth while to indicate briefly 
its general scope and gist. 

§ 8. Natural Selection in Morals. — Natural Selec- 
tion," says Mr. Alexander,^ ''is a name for the process 
by which different species with characteristic structures 
contend for supremacy, and one prevails and becomes 
relatively permanent." In the case of animal life the 
struggle is primarily one between different individuals 
or sets of individuals, some of which die out, while 
the ''more fit " survive. It is not exactly so in morals. 
"The war of natural selection is carried on in human 
affairs not against weaker or incompatible individuals, 
but against their ideals or modes of life. It does not 
suffer any mode of life to prevail or persist but one 
which is compatible with social welfare. What 
happens in the animal world is that certain individuals 
or sets of individuals happen to be born with peculiar 
natural gifts. These gifts turn out to be such as make 
them more fit to survive than other individuals ; and 
accordingly they do survive, and transmit their char- 
acteristics to their descendants, while their less favoured 

1 International Journal of Ethics, vol. ii.,No. 4 (July, 1882), pp. 409- 
439. Cf. also Prof. Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, Book III., 
chap, iv., where the same point is brought out. 

2 An even more extreme instance of an attempt to explain morality 
from below, and on very similar lines, will be found in a recent Ger- 
man work entitled Einleitungin die Moralwissenscliaft by Dr. Georg 
Simmel. 

3 Lac, City p. 431. 4 z^-^., p. 428. 



244 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. V. 



rivals die out. In the case of morals, however, we 
are dealing '^not with animals as such, but with 
minds."* In such cases ''we have something of the 
following kind. A person arises (or a few persons) 
whose feelings, modified by more or less deliberate 
reflection, incline him to a new course of conduct. 
He dislikes cruelty or discourtesy, or he objects to see- 
ing women with inferior freedom, or to the unlimited 
opportunity of intoxication. He may stand alone and 
with only a few friends to support him. His proposal 
may excite ridicule or scorn or hatred ; and if he is a 
great reformer, he may endure hardship and obloquy, 
or even death at the hands of the great body of persons 
whom he offends. By degrees his ideas spread more 
and more ; people discover that they have similar 
leanings ; they are persuaded by him ; their previous 
antagonism to him is replaced by attachment to the 
new mode of conduct, the new political institution. 
The new ideas gather every day fresh strength, until 
at last they occupy the minds of a majority of persons, 
or even of nearly all/'^ ''Persuasion and education, 
in fact, without destruction, replace here the process 
of propagation of its own species and destruction of 
the rival ones, by which in the natural world species 
become numerically strong and persistent. " " Persua- 
sion corresponds to the extermination of the rivals " ; 
for "the victory of mind over mind consists in persua- 
sion."^ Thus, then, the origin of moral ideals, like the 
origin of species, is to be explained by a process of nat- 
ural selection. 

§ 9. Need of Teleology. — Now there can be no 



1 Ibid.y p. 420. 2 Lqc, city p. 414. 3 Ibid., p. 420, 



9-] THE STANDARD AS PERFFXTION. 245 



doubt that all this is very suggestive and instructive ; 
but if it is to be taken as a complete account of 
the moral ideal, it labours under a fatal defect. It is 
a mere natural history of the growth of the moral life. 
Now in deahng with animal life we may be content 
with a mere natural history. In this case we do not 
want to know much more than the nature of the 
species that exist and that have existed, and the cir- 
cumstances that have led them to survive or perish. 
We are not much interested to inquire what right man 
has to extirpate the wolf, or how we are to justify the 
extermination of the mammoth or the survival of the 
ape. We are not specially interested in the relative values 
of different species of animal life. But it is just with the 
question of value that Ethics is concerned. We wish 
to know the ground of preference of one kind of con- 
duct over another ; and it is no solution of this problem 
to say that the one kind has succeeded in driving out 
the other. This, indeed, is partly admitted by Mr. Alex- 
ander himself. ^'A new plan of life," he says, "is 
not made good because it succeeds ; its success is the 
stamp, the imprimatur affixed to it by the course of 
history, the sign that it is good.'' ^ But this admission 
is of little value ; for when he is asked what it is, then, 
that makes it good, what is the common characteristic 
that makes ideals morally valuable, he can only answer 
'*that that common characteristic consists in that such 
a plan of life is adapted to the conditions of existence ; 
that under it the society reacts without friction upon 

1 hoc. cit, p. 418. Sometimes, I think, Mr. Alexander forgets this. 
Thus, in his Moral Order and Progress, p. 307, he says — " Evil is 
simply that which has been rejected and defeated in the struggle 
with the good.'* 



246 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V. 



its surroundings, or, as I should prefer to say, that in 
the conditions in which it is placed society can with 
this ideal so live that no part of it shall encroach upon 
the rest, that the society can be in equilibrium with 
itself." ' But why should we desire that society should 
be in equilibrium with itself? What is it that makes 
this condition valuable to us? This is the question 
which we are forced to ask ; and it is a similar question 
that recurs in connection with the view of Mr. Spencer, 
and with all similar theories. These writers answer 
questions of natural history instead of questions of 
Ethics.^ What they say may throw considerable light 
on the way in which the moral life has developed, but 
does not answer the question— fTAy are we to choose 
that life ? Why, we may ask, for instance, should we 
not seek to disturb the equilibrium of society, instead 
of promoting it ? The answer to this could only be 
given by showing that that equilibrium is a good, 

1 Ibid., p. 419. C/. also Prof. Alexander's article on " The Idea of 
Value," in Mind, vol. i., No. i (Jan., 1892), especially pp. 44-48. 

2 This point is very fully brought out in Sorley's Ethics of Natural- 
ism, Part IL, chap. ix. A short passage may here be quoted 
(pp. 270-1). "A man might quite reasonably ask why he should 
adopt as maxims of conduct the laws seen to operate in nature. 
The end, in this way, is not made to follow from the natural function 
of man. It is simply a mode in which the events of the world occur ; 
and we must, therefore, give a reason why it should be adopted as 
his end by the individual agent. To him there may be no sufficient 
ground of inducement to become *a self-conscious agent in the 
evolution of the universe.' From the purely evolutionist point of 
view, no definite attempt has been made to solve the difficulty. It 
seems really to go no deeper than Dr. Johnson's reply to Boswell, 
when the latter plagued him to give a reason for action : * Sir,* said 
he, in an animated tone, * it is driving on the system of life.,' " Cf. 
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, p. 83, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, 
pp. 149^156. 



§ 10.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 247 

Similarly, we may ask — Why may we not set our- 
selves in opposition to the stream of development 
which yiv. Spencer traces? Here again the answer to 
this question must be found by showing that the stream 
of development is leading to something which we re- 
cognize as good — something that can serve as an ideal 
for our moral nature. If this can be shown, then we 
may s/ar/ from that ideal. That ideal then becomes 
the explanation of the process, instead of the process 
behig an explanation of it. We go through the pro- 
cess of development because we are seeking that ideal. 
The end, and not the beginning, is thus taken as the 
principle of explanation. ^ 

§10. Explanation by End. — Even in the case of the 
development of animal life it is not at all certain that 
the idea of teleology ought not to be introduced. 
Indeed even in Mr. Spencer's view of evolution there 
is a kind of teleology. The whole life of animals is 
regarded as a continual struggle after a perfect adjust- 
ment. That is the ideal by which the whole process is 
explained. And it is possible that on a deeper view of 
evolution the meaning of the process might be seen to 
have a still more profoundly teleological significance. 
So at least Emerson thought — 

" Striving to be man, the worm 
Mounts through all the spires of form." 

So also Aristotle and Hegel thought. ^ But however 

1 This seems to be the essential point in the argument of Prof. 
Huxley's famous Romanes Lecture {Evolution and Ethics). But 
Prof. Huxley partly obscures the point by drawing an unreal anti- 
thesis betv\^een the processes of nature and the activities of the 
moral life. Cf. also Principal Lloyd Morgan's Habit and Instinct, 
pp. 271 and 335, and Seth's Man's Place in the Cosmos, I. 

2 It is still more remarkable (though perhaps not so consistent) to 



248 



ETHICS. 



[bK. II., CH. V. 



this may be with regard to animal life, and to the life 
of nature generally, there can be no doubt that we 
must apply teleological ideas in Ethics. Indeed, as 
we have seen, this is explicitly stated by Mr. Herbert 
Spencer himself. But if this is the case, then the at- 
tempt to explain the moral life /rom behind cannot be 
of much avail. We must explain it rather by what 
lies in front of us, by the ideal or end that we have 
in view. How this may be done, may be indicated 
by a brief reference to the work of the most dis- 
tinguished of those thinkers in recent times who have 
attempted it — the late Professor T. H. Green. 

§11. Green's View of Ethics. — Green's doctrine is 
stated in his great work entitled Prolegomena to Ethics, 
probably the most considerable contribution to ethical 
science that has been made in England during the 
present century.^ Green taught that the essential 
element in the nature of man is the rational or spiritual 
principle within him. Man has appetite, as animals 
have, and, like them, he has sensations and mental 
images ; but these, and everything else in man's 
nature, are modified by the fact that he has reason. 
His appetites are not mere appetites : his sensations 
are not mere sensations. In his appetites there is 
always more or less explicitly present the conscious- 
ness of an end — e, they are desires and not mere appe- 
tites. ^ In his sensations there is always more or less 

find such a pronounced materialist as Duhring objecting strongly 
to the Darwinian attempt to explain evolution by the mere struggle 
for existence, and urging the adoption of a more teleological view. 
See his Cursus der Philosophie, II. iii. 

1 The account of Green's doctrine contained in Sidgwick's History 
of Ethics (pp. 259-260) is unhappily very inadequate. 

* I may say that Green seems to me to exaggerate the extent to 



II.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 249 



explicitly present the element of knowledge — e. they 
are perceptions and not mere sensations. This is due 
to the fact that man is rational, self-conscious, spiritual. 
This is the essential fact with regard to man's nature. 
Green points out, indeed, that even in animal life, and 
even in inanimate nature, we must assume the presence 
of a rational principle — just as Mr. Spencer points out 
that even in animal life there is present the principle of 
adjustment. But in nature the presence of this prin- 
ciple is implicit. We must believe that it is there, but 
it is concealed or imperfectly manifested. In man it is 
explicit ; or, at any rate, it is becoming explicit. And 
the significance of the moral life consists in the con- 
stant endeavour to make this principle more and more 
explicit — to bring out more and more completely our 
rational, self-conscious, spiritual nature. How exactly 
this is to be done, Green admits, it is not easy to 
answer, just because our rational nature is not yet 
completely developed. The moral life is to be ex- 

which animal appetites are transmuted in human consciousness. 
Perhaps, however, my own statement above (Book I., chap, i., § 3) 
contains an exaggeration on the opposite side. At any rate, the main 
point here is that the essence of man consists in his rational nature, 
not in anything that he has in common with a mere animal (if there 
is any mere animal). What exactly is involved in the consciousness 
of the higher forms of animal life, is a difficult question. It seems 
absurd to deny them perception. It is hard even to suppose that 
they are without perceptual images. Else how does the ox know 
his master's crib ? How does the bird construct its nest ? There 
seems to be involved in such cases not only an apprehension of the 
object before them but an anticipatory image of what is about to be. 
And indeed this seems to be required even for Darwin's earthworms 
{Vegetable Mouldy chap. ii.). But all this lies beyond our present sub- 
ject. Reference may be made to Lloyd Morgan's Animal Life and 
Intelligence (especially chapter ix.) and to Wundt's Human and 
Animal Psychology, pp. 350-366. 



250 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V. 



plained by its end ; but as we have not reached the 
end, we cannot, in any complete form, give the ex- 
planation. Still, we can to a considerable extent see 
in what way our rational nature has been so far de- 
veloped, and in what direction we may proceed to 
develop it more fully. 

This is a brief statement of Green's point of view ; 
and it certainly appears to furnish us with an answer 
to the question with which we set out — viz. the ques- 
tion how we are to determine which is the higher and 
which is the lower among our universes of desire. 
Green's answer is — the highest universe is that which is 
most completely rational. The meaning of this, how- 
ever, must be somewhat more fully considered, in 
relation to the point of view that we have already tried 
to develop. 

§ 12. The True Self. — We have seen that there are 
a great number of universes within which a man may 
live. In some of these men live only for moments at 
a time : in others they live habitually. Some of them 
are universes within which no abiding satisfaction can 
be found. The universe of mere animal enjoyment 
is of this nature. Its pleasures soon pall upon the 
appetite. In others we find that we have a more per- 
manent resting-place. Now the nature of the universe 
within which a man habitually lives constitutes, as we 
have seen, his character or self If he chances to be 
led into some other universe by a sudden impulse 
or unexpected temptation, the man scarcely considers 
himself to be responsible for his actions within that 
universe. He says that he was not himself when he 
acted so. He was not within his own universe. 

But there is no limited universe within which we can 



§ 12.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 25 1 



find permanent satisfaction. As we grow older, we get 
crusted over with habits, and go on, with little misgiv- 
ing, within the universe to which we have grown 
accustomed. But if the universe is an imperfect one, 
we are not without occasional pricks of conscience — 
/. e. we sometimes become aware of a higher universe 
within which we ought to be living. 

"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, 
A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, 
A chorus-ending from Euripides — 
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears, 
As old and new at once as nature's self, 
To rap and knock and enter in our soul." 1 

On such occasions we begin to feel that even in the life 
that we ordinarily live we are not ourselves. There is 
a want of permanence in our habitual universe, just as 
there is in those into which we find ourselves occa- 
sionally drifted by passion and impulse. Just as we 
do not feel satisfied in these, but escape from them 
as rapidly as we can, and declare that we were not 
ourselves when we were in them ; so we become con- 
scious at times that even in our habitual lives there is 
something unsatisfying, and if it were not for the frost 
of custom we would make our escape from these also, 
and declare that in them also we are not ourselves. 
Where, then, is the universe within which we should 
find an abiding satisfaction } What is the true self } 

The true self is what is perhaps best described as the 
rational self. It is the universe that we occupy in our 
moments of deepest wisdom and insight. To say fully 
what the content of this universe is, would no doubt, 
as Green points out,^ be impossible. The content of 

1 Browning — Bishop Blougram's Apology. 

2 Prolegomena to Ethics, § 288, p. 310. 



252 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. V. 



the universe of rational insight is as wide as the uni- 
verse of actual fact. To live completely in that uni- 
verse would be to understand completely the world in 
which we live and our relations to it, and to act con- 
stantly in the light of that understanding. This we 
cannot hope to do. All that we can do is to endeavour 
to promote this understanding more and more in our- 
selves and others, and to act more and more in a way 
that is consistent with the promotion of this understand- 
ing. So to live is to be truly ourselves. ^ 

§ 13. The Real Meaning of Self-consistency. — From 
this point of view we are better able to appreciate the 
real significance of the Kantian principle, that the 
supreme law of morals is to be self-consistent. This 
law, as we pointed out, seemed to supply us with a 
mere form without matter. It is not so, however, if 
we interpret the statement to mean not merely that we 
are to be self -consistent ^ but that we are iohe consistent 
with the self—i. e. with the true self. For this principle 
has a content, though the content is not altogether easy 
to discover. Kant s error, we may say, consisted in 
this, that he understood the term Reason in a purely 
abstract way. He opposed it to all the particular con- 
tent of our desires ; whereas, in reality, reason is rela- 
tive to the whole world which it interprets. The uni- 
verse of rational insight is the universe in which the 
whole world — including all our desires— appears in its 
true relations. To occupy the point of view of reason, 

1 For some criticisms on the idea of self-realization, see the valu- 
able article by Mr. A. E. Taylor in the International Journal of 
Ethics, Vol. VI., no. 3. Mr. Taylor's objections do not seem, how- 
ever, to bear upon the theory as explained above and as developed 
in the following Book. 



§ 14-] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 253 



therefore, is not to withdraw from all our desires, and 
occupy the point of view of mere formal self-consist- 
ency ; it is rather to place all our desires in their right 
relations to one another. The universe of rational in- 
sight is a universe into which they can all enter, and 
in which they all find their true places. Dirt has been 
defined as ''matter in the wrong place'* : so moral evil 
may be said to consist simply in the misplacement of 
desire. The meaning of this will, it is hoped, become 
somewhat clearer as we proceed. 

§ 14. The Real Meaning of Happiness. — Just as we 
are now better able to appreciate the significance of 
the categorical imperative of self-consistency, so we 
ought now to be able to understand more fully the true 
significance of the principle of happiness. The error 
in the conception of happiness, as formerly interpreted, 
lay in its being thought of simply as the gratification 
of each single desire, or of the greatest possible sum 
of desires. We now see that the end is to be found 
rather in the systematisation of desire. Now happi- 
ness, in the true sense of the word, as distinguished 
from transient pleasures, consists just in the conscious- 
ness of the realisation of such a systematic content. 
It is the form of feeling which accompanies the har- 
monious adjustment of the various elements in our 
lives within an ideal unity. Happiness, therefore, in 
this sense, though not, properly speaking, the end at 
which we aim, is an inseparable and essential element 
in its attainment.^ 

§ 15. Transition to Applied Ethics. — We have now 

1 It is in this sense, as Spinoza says, that "happiness [beatitudo] 
is not the reward of virtue, but virtue itself,"—/, it is an essenti^ 
aspect in the attainment of the right point of view, 



254 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. V. 



seen, in a general way, what the nature of the moral 
ideal is, and how the various imperfect conceptions of 
this ideal find their place within what seems to be the 
true one. We now see, in short, at least in some de- 
gree, what is the true significance of the ethical ought. 
We see that, if it is to be described as an imperative" 
at all, it is at least not to be thought of, as it is apt at 
first to be, as a command imposed upon us from with- 
out. It is rather to be regarded as the voice of the true 
self within us, passing judgment upon the self as it 
appears in its incomplete development. Conscience, 
from this point of view, may be said to be simply the 
sense that we are not ourselves ; and the voice of duty 
is the voice that says, ''To thine own self be true." 

But statements of this sort are still apt to seem rather 
empty and unmeaning, unless we can bring them into 
some sort of relationship to the concrete content of 
life. Accordingly, what we have now to do is to con- 
sider the way in which the concrete moral life may be 
interpreted in the light of the general principle which 
has now been laid down. This, of course, can only 
be done in such a book as this, in the most cursory 
and superficial fashion. But some indication of the 
kind of way in which it would have to be done in a 
more comprehensive work, may at least be found sug- 
gestive and helpful. Before we proceed to this, how- 
ever, it is necessary to consider the exact sense in which 
ethical principles are capable of application to the con- 
tent of the practical life. This is the subject of the 
following chapter. 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 




CHAPTER VI. 

THE BEARING OF THEORY ON PRACTICE. 

§ 1. Different Views. — As I have already indicated, 
there are different views with regard to the nature and 
extent of the bearing of ethical theory on the practical 
life of mankind. According to some, the aim of Ethics 
is practical throughout. According to others, it is a 
purely theoretical study, with just as little direct bear- 
ing on practical life as astronomy or chemistry or 
metaphysics. Others, again, steer a middle course, 
and, while holding that its aim is not directly practical, 
yet believe that it has important practical bearings, 
inasmuch as it makes clear to us the ideal involved in 
life. As examples of the directly practical treatment of 
Ethics, we may refer to most of the earlier thinkers up 
to Plato, to the Stoics and Epicureans, to the Mediaeval 
Casuists, to Bentham and most of the modern Utilita- 
rians, and on the whole to Mr. Herbert Spencer. This 
view corresponds also to what is probably the popular 
conception of the subject. Most men expect that an 
ethical teacher will tell them what they ought to do ; 
and the common phrase the Ethics of — " (Gambling, 
Competition, Controversy, &c. ) is generally understood 
to mean a statement of the right attitude to be adopted 
with reference to certain departments of action. The 
more purely theoretical view is to some extent repre- 
sented by the effort of Spinoza to treat morals after the 



256 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. Yh 



manner of Geometry. It seems also to be the view 
taken, though in somewhat different senses, by various 
recent writers, among whom may be mentioned Dr. 
Simmel, and perhaps Mr. F. H. Bradley and Mr. B. 
Bosanquet, ' and one or two others. The middle course, 
however, has been adopted by most of the great writers 
on the subject, from Aristotle downwards ; ^ e. these 
writers have treated the subject theoretically, but at 
the same time have clearly indicated its bearings upon 
the concrete moral life. 

Now, the view which we ought to take on this point 
depends largely on the general theory of Ethics which 
we adopt. Some consideration of the way in which 
the nature of our theory affects its bearing on practice 
may, consequently, be here in place. 

§ 2. Relation of Different Views to the Various 
Etjiical Theories. — From the point of view of the 
Moral Sense School the bearing of ethical theory upon 

1 Simmel's views are to be found especially in his Einleitung in die 
Moralwissenschafty vol. i., p. iii, and vol. ii., pp. 408, 409, &c. Mr. 
Bradley's most forcible statements on this point are to be found in 
his Ethical Studies, pp. 174-5, ^^^^i in his Principles of Logic, pp. 247-8. 
For some criticisms on the statements there given, I may refer to 
the International Journal of Ethics, vol. iii., No. 4, pp. 507 sqq. ; and 
to the paper by Mr. Hastings Rashdall on " The Limits of Casuistry " 
in the same Journal, vol. iv., No. 4, pp. 459 sqq. Cf also ibid., vol. 
iv., No. 3, pp. 160-173, It is probable, however, that Mr. Bradley's 
statements are intended only as an emphatic protest against the op- 
posite extreme of those who think that ethical science should tell 
us directly what we ought in particular to do. At any rate, there is 
ground for thinking that Mr. Bradley no longer holds to the extreme 
position indicated in the passages to which I have referred, and in 
several others throughout the Ethical Studies. From several indi- 
cations in the writings of Mr. Bosanquet, however,, it would appear 
that he adheres to the view expressed by Wj\ Bradley^ ; but I am not 
aware that he has ever given any clear tMQiSlQrit of Ms position.. 



2.] 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



257 



practical life would be exceedingly slight. For, ac- 
cording to this view, Ethics is on substantially the 
same footing as Esthetics. Now it will be generally 
allowed that aesthetic theory ^ has very little direct bear- 
ing upon the cultivation of taste or the production of 
works of art. Of course a bad theory does sometimes 
corrupt the taste of a generation, and a good theory 
may help to set it right. But the influence of aesthetic 
theory in this way is probably not much greater than 
that of particular views on astronomy or biology might 
be. All knowledge affects practice, but not all know- 
ledge guides it ; and on the whole aesthetic theory does 
not guide taste or artistic production. Similarly, if 
morality were simply dependent on a kind of intuitive 
taste, the theory which expounded the nature of this 
taste would not have much effect on practical life, ex- 
cept in a comparatively indirect way. In like manner, 
it is true of most intuitional theories of morals that, if 
they are accepted, the bearing of Ethics on practical 
life must be of the slightest description. If we know 
what is right by an instinctive perception, or by any 
other kind of direct insight, the theoretical considera- 
tion of this insight can bring nothing to light which is 
not alread}^ involved in the practice of mankind. A 
rational theory, like that of Kant, on the other hand, 

1 Here, and elsewhere, I understand esthetic theory to be con- 
cerned with the study of the Beautiful (whither found in Nature or 
in Art). Some writers regard Esthetics rather as the theory of 
artistic production. In so far as there is any such theory, it would 
more nearly resemble Ethics. But I think it is better to regard 
^Esthetics as concerned with the apprehension of the Beautiful 
rather than with its creation. On the other hand, the moral life is, 
from the nature of this case, necessarily treated as a creative 
activity. 



258 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. VI. 



would seem to leave more scope for practical applica- 
tion ; for, though the rational principles recognised by- 
such a theory are implicit in the ordinary conscious- 
ness of mankind, yet the making of them explicit would 
bring them into greater clearness, and so might be ex- 
pected to have a considerable influence upon practice. 
It is the Utilitarian theory, however, which lends itself 
most directly to practical application. According to 
this view there is a definite end (the greatest happiness 
of the greatest number) to be aimed at in life ; and 
human beings cannot be assumed to have this end in 
view in their ordinary actions, except in a very vague 
and blundering fashion. Hence it would be the aim of 
ethical theory, from this point of view, to bring the end 
to light and to consider the means best adapted for its 
attainment. This would apply also to any view (such 
as that of Socrates), according to which there is some 
ascertainable end (some snmmum bonum), to which 
human life ought to be directed, whether this end be 
described as Happiness or in any other way. Finally, 
if we adopt the view of development, we are naturally 
led to take up an intermediate position with reference 
to the applicability of ethical theory to practice. Of 
course if any one were to take the view that the process 
of development is inevitable and not open to criticism, 
there would be no scope for the application of theory 
to practice from this point of view, any more than 
from the point of view of pure Intuitionism. If there 
are absolute laws, either of the nature of intuitive com- 
mands or of inevitable natural forces, by which the 
nature of the moral life is determined, the science of 
Ethics can only stand by and admire them. Now 
therQ are some evolutionists who appear to take this 



§3.] 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



259 



view. But, in general, the view taken by those who 
adopt the theory of development is that the develop- 
ment, at least in its higher phases, is capable of re- 
flective guidance, and, in fact, can only take place by 
means of reflection. Hence, while thinkers of this 
school would be chary of any attempt to deal with life 
by a reference to some abstract end, taken up without 
regard to the process of its development, they would 
yet be ready to study this process of development with 
a view to ascertain how far it is adequate to the ideal 
that is involved in it ; and this reflective criticism might 
be expected to have a considerable influence on prac- 
tical life. 

These general statements, however, are only roughly 
true ; and we must now try to explain them some- 
what more accurately in relation to the most im- 
portant theories. 

§ 3. The Intuitionist View. — According to the In- 
tuitionist view, we apprehend immediately that cer- 
tain lines of action are right and others wrong. On 
the most stringent interpretation this means that there 
can never be any real doubt as to the best course to 
pursue. An erring conscience is a chimera.'' The 
study of moral principles cannot, therefore, lead us to 
any truth which was not known before ; and scien- 
tific Ethics is simply an intellectual luxury. This 
stringent view, however, has seldom been taken by 
Intuitionists. They have generally believed that 
Conscience can be to some extent educated. They 
have also sometimes held that even intuitive moral 
principles may come into collision, and that reflection 
is required in dealing with such cases of conflict* 
Casuistry is not unknown among Intuitionists. 



26o 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. YI. 



Again, I have pointed out that, according to the 
view of the more rational Intuitionists ' {i,.e. those 
represented by the line of thought extending from 
Cudworth to Kant), the function of Ethics would 
naturally be regarded as more directly practical ; 
since the principle of morals is, from this point of 
view, one that is capable of reflective analysis. It 
should be observed, however, that Kant himself did 
not regard Ethics as being practical in this sense. 
For, though Kant held that the Categorical Imperative 
is capable of reflective analysis, yet he also held that 
it is so simple and obvious in its application, that it 
is used by all rational beings, without the need of re- 
flective analysis. In fact, it was Kant who put for- 
ward the dictum that ^' an erring conscience is a 
chimera." In accordance with this view, Kant also 
held that there are no real cases of moral conflict, 
and that, consequently, casuistry is an absurdity. 
The laws of duty are absolute, and admit of no ex- 
ceptions. Kant, indeed, is, from this point of view, 
quite the most stringent of all Intuitionists. In 
general, however, it is true that those who accept a 
rational principle as their standard acknowledge the 
importance of reflective analysis from a practical point 
of view. 

§ 4. The Utilitarian View. — From the Utilitarian 
point of view, the moral life is conceived as directed 
towards a definite end — viz. the attainment of pleasure, 
and, more definitely, of the greatest possible pleasure 
of all sentient creatures. So far, then, as this end 
can be precisely determined, and the means to its 
attainment definitely ascertained, it would be possi- 

1 If they are to be called Intuitionists. See above, chap, iii., § la 



§4-1 



THEORY AXD PRACTICE. 



261 



ble to calculate what course of action is the best under 
any assignable conditions. The task of Ethics would 
thus become a quite directly practical one. But, even 
from the Utilitarian standpoint, this view is subject to 
considerable qualification. Even the Utilitarians hardly 
conceive that it falls within the province of Ethics to 
invent a morality for mankind. It would be unfair, 
at any rate, to attribute so crude a misconception to 
any of the leading exponents of the ideas of the 
school. J. S. Mill, in particular, has expressly guard- 
ed against it, by the statement in which he com- 
pares the results of the moral experience of mankind 
to the Nautical Almanack w^hich is used in navi- 
gation. He explains that, all through the course of 
human life, men have been testing the consequences 
of various lines of action, and the results of this 
experience are summed up in the common sense of 
mankind. The ethical philosopher, as well as the 
plain man," finds his Almanack already calculated, 
and only requires to use it. I\Iill conceives, however, 
that these calculations have been somewhat roughly 
made, and have not been carried, so to speak, to 
many places of Decimals. The ethical philosopher 
will endeavour gradually to revise and extend them. 
Dropping metaphor, we may say that there is a large 
body of moral truths which, from the Utilitarian point 
of view, may be accepted as embodying the best ex- 
perience of the race ; but, since the race has not been 
consciously guided by Utilitarian considerations, it 
has not always summed up its results quite accurately 
in the moral precepts that have come to be recognised 
as binding. The finer distinctions have been blurred, 
and the more remote consequences ignored. Hence 



262 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. VI. 



reflection on the moral end may enable us to intro- 
duce considerable corrections into the judgment of 
common-sense morality. ' 

§ 5. The Evolutionist View. — When thus qualified, 
the Utilitarian view on this point is not substantially 
different from that commonly adopted by the Evolu- 
tionists—at least by those who take a definitely 
teleological view of the process of development. 
From this point of view, as from that of Utilitarianism, 
there is a definite end in view, though it may be an 
end that is a good deal more difficult to formulate. 
The greater complexity of the end, however, tends to 
introduce greater uncertainty with respect to the best 
means to its attainment ; while, at the same time, 
the idea of development brings with it a greater con- 
fidence in the fruits of past experience, as embodied 
in the traditions and intuitions of the race. The 

1 C/. Fowler and Wilson's Principles oj Morals, Part I., pp. 118-19. 
" What is most of all important to the practical moralist is, that his- 
tory will familiarise him with the idea of development or evolution, 
shewing him that institutions or habits are not accidental in their 
origin, or mere devices of the legislator ; that they have grown up 
for the most part by virtue of tendencies in human nature modified 
and directed by external circumstances, and that these tendencies 
should be understood by all who seek to direct them. This con- 
sideration will teach us the precaution necessary in dealing with 
prevalent ideas and customs, and prevent us from making attempts 
to modify them without due preparation. On the other hand, by 
studying the circumstances in w^hich moral ideas or rules had their 
origin, we shall be better able to see whether they are suitable to 
the present condition of mankind, or whether the necessity for 
them has ceased. History, in short, enables us to understand and 
appreciate the present ; it enables us to some extent to anticipate 
the future, and the knowledge which it supplies is an indispensable 
condition of all wise attempts at moral and social improvement.'* 
It is thus that the careful Utilitarian recognises the necessity of the 
study of the actuaJ course of concrete moral development 



§50 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



263 



Evolutionist is, consequently, as a rule, less prone 
than the Utilitarian is to imagine that it is possible 
by reflection to introduce definite improvements into 
the morality of common sense. ]\Ir. Herbert Spencer 
has perhaps shown himself more ready than most to 
suggest practical conclusions ; but this is not so 
much because he thinks it possible to improve upon 
the results of experience as because he thinks that the 
experience of the race has resulted in the establish- 
ment of certain quite definite intuitions as to natural 
rights, &c., though the perversity of the human race 
leads it very frequently to neglect these intuitive 
truths. But ^Ir. Spencer s views on this point do not 
seem to me to be quite consistent. 

There are, however, as we have seen, other writers 
of the Evolutionist school who do not hold that it is 
possible to formulate any definite end to which the 
process of development may be regarded as tending. 
According to these writers, there is a gradual process 
of Evolution, and various forms of moral action and 
moral judgment arise in the course of it ; but it is not 
possible to give any clear account of its ultimate goal. 
It must be taken simply as we find it ; and the forms 
of action and of moral judgment must be taken along 
with the rest. The study of Ethics, from this point of 
view, is simply a part of the wider study of Psychology 
and Sociology, and hence is simply a study and in- 
terpretation of facts. This is the view, in particular, 
of Dr. Simmel, who ridicules the attempts of what he 
calls the oMonistic Moralists to give an account of any 
single principle by which the moral life is guided. It 
is merely a struggle of opposing forces, and the result- 
ing moral system expresses nothing but the tendencies 



264 



ETHICS. [bK. II., CH. VI, 



of the ''compact majority/' But this is not so much 
a theory of Ethics as a theory of its impossibility. In 
so far, however, as such a view is taken, ethical theory 
would have no practical application, just as it has none 
according to the purely Intuitionist view. When we 
enter the region of absolute Law as the foundation of 
morals — whether it be that of God, of Conscience, of 
Reason, or of a blind struggle — we are beyond the 
possibility of regulative principles based on an ideal. 

§ 6. The Idealistic View. — How does the matter 
stand, finally, from the point of view of the more 
idealistic theory of development ? From this stand- 
point the process of development is conceived in a 
more distinctly teleological fashion than it is from the 
standpoint of biological evolution ; but on the other 
hand the end in view is more complex and more diffi- 
cult to define. The unfolding of the capabilities of 
mankind, the realisation of the rational Universe — 
phrases such as these, though they have a quite defi- 
nite and intelligible meaning, hardly serve to furnish 
us with a clear-cut end to the attainment of which 
definite means may be adopted. If such an end were 
not one that is naturally and inevitably adopted by 
mankind, it would be hopeless to seek to impose it 
upon them. Besides, as the ideal, from this point of 
view, is not thought of as an external end, but as the 
unfolding of the essential nature of mankind, we may 
naturally expect to find it unfolding itself throughout 
the whole course of human history. If this view is 
correct, the ideal would be found in human life by the 
psychologist and the sociologist, as well as by the 
student of Ethics ; the difference being that the former 
are not specially concerned with it, and find it only as 



§6.] 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



265 



one fact among others, while the student of Ethics 
makes it his special business to examine it. From the 
point of view of idealism, therefore, more than from 
most others, it must be clearly recognised that it is not 
the business of Ethics to invent a new morality for the 
world. If it were not true that ''morality is the nature 
of things,'' no amount of reflection could ever make it 
so. At the same time, this ought not to be under- 
stood as meaning that the student of Ethics accepts 
the world as he finds it. Like the poet, he 

" Looks at all things as they are 
But through a kind of glory." 

He looks at the world in the light of the ideal which is 

developing through it. Taking the world as it stands 

at any particular time, we do not find that it is a 

homogeneous whole. It is a struggling, developing 

process, in which, as the Persians put it, there is a 

continual conflict between Ormuzd and Ahriman, Light 

and Darkness. The student of Ethics, from the point 

of view of Idealism, is not an indifferent spectator of 

this struggle. He looks for the evidence of the triumph 

of Light. In what direction this triumph will come, 

he will hardly undertake to prophesy ; but, in his 

study of life and history, of the contest betw^een the 

Family and the State, Individualism and Socialism, 

Law and Freedom, the ideals of the Hebrews and of 

the Greeks, he is interested to watch not simply the 

direction in which at any time things are moving, in 

the swaying to and fro of opposing forces, but rather 

in trying to bring out the significance of the movement, 

its bearing upon the gradual unfolding of the ideal 

which it involves. To study it in this way is at the 

same time to criticise it. . 



266 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. VI. 



There are thus two sides in the idealistic view of 
Ethics. On the one hand, it looks to the experience 
of mankind ; on the other hand, it looks to the ideal. 
Without the former it would be empty ; without the 
latter it would be blind. And on the whole all the 
writers who have dealt with the subject from this point 
of view have kept their eyes upon both aspects. But 
some writers have tended to lay more emphasis on the 
one side than on the other. The typical instances of 
the two methods are Plato and Aristotle. Plato seems, 
at least to the superficial view, to be perpetually con- 
structing ideal Republics and ideal types of life, with 
but little reference to the concrete facts of human 
development.^ Aristotle, on the other hand, seems — 
again to the superficial view— to throw aside the ideal 
as not TrpaxTou xai xr-qrov divdpwno)^ and to concentrate his 
attention upon the virtues and institutions of the Greek 
State, as he found it beside him. Hegel, in more 
modern times, has seemed to lend himself to both 
forms of misunderstanding. Some have regarded him 
as a father of revolutionists,^ who created a world out 
of his inner consciousness, without regard to fact and 
history ; others have scoffed at him as an upholder of 
the status quOy who simply accepted the world as he 
found it. 3 But wisdom is justified of all her children ; 

1 That Plato was not a mere dreamer of dreams, but a true inter- 
preter of the moral life of his time, is well brought out by Hegel in 
his History of Philosophy and Philosophy of Right. 

2 The Socialists and Nihilists used to be fond of claiming Hegel as 
their founder. They seem to have abandoned this view now. 

8 Fries said of Hegel that his political views were grown " not in 
the garden of science, but on the dunghill of servility." In some- 
what the same way Goethe was called the Friend of the powers 
that be {Freund dcs Bestehenden), The confusion, in the case of 



§ THEORY AND PRACTICE. 267 

and the opposition between these different aspects of 
truth is wholly superficial. The ethical idealist takes 
the world as he finds it ; but he takes it to bring out 
its significance, and so to criticise it. He brings an 
ideal to bear upon it, but the ideal is one that is in- 
volved in the facts themselves. The seeming opposi- 
tion is a real identity ; and Aristotle is not the enemy 
of Plato, but his interpreter. 

§ 7. Summary of Results. — On the whole, then, we 
see that there are three view^s of the way in which 
Ethics bears on practical life : — 

(1) There is the view that it has essentially no 
bearing upon it at all. This is the view of the more 
extreme Intuitionists, whether perceptional or rational ; 
of those evolutionists who believe that no end can be 
discovered in the process of development ; and perhaps 
also of a few idealists. 

(2) There is the view that Ethics is directly practical. 
This is the view chiefly of the Utilitarians, but partly 
also of all those who think that some definite end can 
be formulated for mankind, which is not involved in 
the process of human development itself 

(3) There is the view that Ethics has for its primary 
function to bring out the significance of the moral life 
in relation to the ideal that is involved in it, and that 
this process is at the same time a criticism of it. The 
third of these views is of course the one that is here 

Hegel, arises mainly from not appreciating his distinction between 
the Actual ( Wirklich) and the Existent. He held that the Actual is 
Rational, but he meant by the Actual, not what is at any time found 
existing, but the underlying spirit by which the movement of history 
is carried on. It is the business of Ethics to bring this clearly to 
light. 



268 



ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. VI. 



adopted ; and, in the light of what has now been said, 
the remarks at the beginning of this treatise on the 
essentially normative character of ethical science may 
perhaps become more intelligible. 

§ 8. Comparison between Ethics and Logic — Perhaps 
a comparison between Ethics and Logic, from this 
point of view, may help in some degree to make my 
meaning clearer. The essential similarity between 
these two sciences has been already indicated. Now, 
it is possible to take different views of Logic, in its 
bearing upon the work of the particular science, just 
as it is possible to take different views of Ethics, in its 
bearing upon practical life. It may be held that it is 
the business of Inductive Logic to lay down the rules 
to be observed by the particular sciences in the inves- 
tigation of nature. This is on the whole the view 
suggested by Mill, just as on the whole the corre- 
sponding view of Ethics is suggested by him. Or 
again, such a Logic as that of Hegel, in which the, ideas, 
of Quantity, Substance, Cause, &c., are dealt with in 
their relationship to one another, may be supposed to 
be (and has been supposed to be) an effort to deduce 
these ideas a priori, without any reference to the way 
in which they emerge in our experience. Such views 
of Logic would be on a par with the view of Ethics 
according to which it is its business to invent a system 
of morality. But most logicians would now admit 
that the methods of the sciences have to be first dis- 
covered by the sciences themselves, and that the ideas 
used by them (Quantity, Substance, Cause, &c.), could 
never be known by us if they did not inevitably 
emerge in the course of our experience. So also it 
seems to be true that the content of the moral life is 



§8.] 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



269 



developed in the course of human experience, and does 
not wait for the science of Ethics to invent it. 

But then, it may be asked, does Logic simply accept 
the methods of the sciences as it finds them, and simply 
arrange the ideas of which the sciences make use ? 
This view also seems to be incorrect. Logic seeks to 
bring out the significance of those methods and ideas, 
and to test their validity. In this way it at once 
justifies them within their proper sphere, and brings 
out their limitations. It does not invent ideas and 
methods for the sciences, but it certainly criticises those 
that it finds, in the light of the ideas of truth and con- 
sistency which it finds in them. So with Ethics. It 
does not invent the Family and the State, or the ideas 
of Love and Truth, or the laws about Life and Pro- 
perty. Still less does it seek to overturn these ideas 
and institutions. It finds them in the concrete world 
with which it deals; and it seeks to understand them 
in the light of the ideal of human development, to 
which they have reference. It thus at once shows 
their significance, and indicates their limitations. For 
the "plain man" such an institution as the Family or 
Private Property is apt to seem an eternal and inviolable 
fact in the moral life ; and, if he is taught to doubt 
about this, by being shown that they have had a 
history, and have not always existed in the form in 
which they now appear, he is apt to become confused, 
and to think that the significance of those elements in 
human life has been destroyed. The student of Ethics 
should be able to see the significance and value of such 
institutions, while at the same time he is able to put 
them in their proper place as elements in a whole. It 



270 



ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. VI. 



is in this form of critical insight that the study of Ethics 
has practical value. 

§ 9. The Treatment of Applied Ethics. — In the 
light of those observations, we are now able to proceed 
to the treatment of Applied Ethics. Hitherto we have 
been concerned with the pure theory, e. with the 
consideration of the nature of the standard or ideal. 
Now, a treatise on Ethics frequently contains nothing 
more than the discussion of this point ; and, if our 
view of the nature of the standard had been some- 
what different from what it is, this might possibly have 
sufficed for our purpose. If we had adopted an in- 
tuitional view, there could have been hardly any 
Applied Ethics to deal with. If we had adopted a 
Utilitarian view, the applications would have consisted 
in working out the Calculus in various directions ; and 
however difficult (if not impossible) this might be, the 
general principle of it at least would have been so 
obvious, that we might fairly have been dispensed from 
the working of it out. But for any one who adopts the 
point of view of development a treatment of Ethics 
which made no attempt to interpret the concrete pro- 
cess of development in the light of the ideal principle 
involved, would be little short of an absurdity. Hence, 
this part of the subject has generally been a prominent 
one with those writers who adopt the point of view 
of Development. It is so, for instance, with Aristotle, 
in whose Nicomachean Ethics the concrete life of the 
citizen is sketched with considerable fulness, and who 
seeks to complete the subject by a consideration of the 
State and Education in his treatise on Politics. It is 
so also with Hegel, whose chief work on Ethics (the 



§9.] 



THEORY AND PRACTICE. 



271 



Philosophy of Right) is almost entirely concerned with 
the concrete moral life. 

In dealing with this concrete aspect of the subject, 
the student must guard against two possible miscon- 
ceptions, which have perhaps already been sufficiently 
indicated, but which it may be well to repeat and em- 
phasize once more. 

(i) It must not for a moment be imagined that the 
concrete elements of the moral life are to be extracted 
by some sort of alchemy, out of the general principle. 
The task of Ethics would indeed be a hard one if it had 
to invent the moral life as well as to interpret it. But 
happily there were some good men in the world before 
there were books on Ethics ; and even now that many 
books have been written, Heaven help the hapless 
mortal who gets his ideas of the moral life from them ! 
We can learn what the moral life is by living it, and 
there is no other way. It is only after it has been lived 
that the science of Ethics can step in, and explain what 
it means. No doubt in thus explaining it, it is at the 
same time criticising it ; and a moral life that has been 
subjected to criticism (like a book that has been sub- 
jected to criticism) is not quite the same thing as it was 
before. But the student must altogether clear his mind 
of any sort of notion that may linger in it, that in the 
chapters which follow a brand-new moral life is to be 
unfolded before his wondering eyes. Even a treatise 
on medical science does not teach us to breathe with 
our ears. We learn to breathe before we study physi- 
ology or hygienics, and to live before we study Ethics; 
and, on the whole, after we have studied them, breathe 
and live very much as we did before. We learn such 
things by action and experience. If a man is ^'a fool 



2/2 



ETHICS. 



[BK. II., CH. VI. 



or a physician at forty," it is certain that he is a muff or 
a moralist at a still more tender age ; and the reflec- 
tive analysis of life can only teach him to do a little 
more carefully and exactly (it may be, only a little more 
pedantically) what in the main he did before. 

(2) On the other hand, the student must equally 
guard against the opposite misconception, that in study- 
ing the content of the moral life we regard it simply 
from the point of view of Sociology. To the student 
of Sociology the immoral life is on the whole as inter- 
esting as the moral life (Simmel says ^ it is more so), and 
degeneration is as interesting as development. For us, 
on the other hand, life is interesting only in the light 
of its ideal. We do not care for what it is, but for what 
it signifies. Hence also our method of treatment is 
different. We do not aim at a statement of the course 
through which the moral life has passed in the che- 
quered career of its history, but rather at an account 
of its most significant aspects. In a complete treat- 
ment of it, we might perhaps be led to arrange it, after 
the manner of Hegel, in the order of its dialectical 
development. But in an introductory account like the 
present a somewhat less systematic arrangement may 
suffice. 

At any rate, we have now had enough of these pre- 
liminary observations and warnings. Let us plunge, 
as best we can, into our account of the concrete moral 
life. 

1 See International Journal of Ethics, Vol. III., no. 4. So also in 
physiology and psychology, pathological states are often more 
enlightening than those that are normal. 



§1.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



BOOK III. 

THE MORAL LIFE. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE SOCIAL UNITY, 

§1. The Social Self. — We have seen that the true 
self is the rational self. We must now try to under- 
stand what this means. And, first of all, we have to 
add that the true self is the social self. Up to this point 
we have spoken of the individual almost as if he might 
be an isolated and independent unit. But every individ- 
ual belongs to a social system. An isolated individual 
is even inconceivable. Aristotle said truly that such a 
being must be ''either a beast or a god.''^ Such a 
being could have no ideal self. He must either have 
realized his ideal like a god, or have no ideal to realize 
like a beast. For our ideal self finds its embodiment 
in the life of a society, and it is only in this way that 
it is kept before us. Not only so, but even the realiza- 
tion of our ideal seems to demand a society. For 
to have a perfectly rational self would involve that our 
universe should have a perfectly rational content. 
Now the only possible universe with a rational content 
seems to be a universe of rational beings. Hence we 

1 Politics, I. ii. 14 : " He who is unable to live in society, or who has 
no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast 

or a god (i) BripCov ^ Otos). " 



274 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. I. 



must go even beyond the saying of Aristotle, and say 
that even a God must be social. Even a God must 
have a rational universe in relation to Himself, and 
must consequently create, or, in Hegelian phrase, 
go out of Himself into a world of rational beings. 
But this is perhaps too abstruse a subject to be more 
than hinted at here. It is sufficient for our purpose to 
say that it is in relation to our fellow-men that we find 
our ideal life. Where two or three are gathered to- 
gether, there am I in the midst of them."' The 
or ideal self is not realized in any one individual, but 
finds its realization rather in the relations of persons to 
one another. It embodies itself in literature and art, 
in the laws of a state, in the counsels of perfection 
which societies gradually form for themselves. 

§ 2. Society a Unity. — Society, therefore, must be re- 
garded as a unity — in fact, as we shall see shortly, as 
an organic unity. The parts of it are necessary to each 
other, as the parts of an animal organism are ; and it 
is in all the parts in relation to one another, rather than 
in any one of them singly, that the true life is to be 
found. ''We are members one of another. " The ideal 
life of one requires others to complement it, and it is 
by mutual help that the whole develops towards per- 
fection. This we shall see more fully in the sequel.* 

1 1 do not mean to imply that this saying was originally intended 
to bear the sense here ascribed to it. But I think it has frequently 
been used by religious men to express that consciousness of unity, 
and of elevation into a higher universe, which arises when a number 
of men gather together in a common spirit and with a common aim 
for the advancement of their moral lives. Clifford's "tribal self " 
contains a similar idea. 

2 See sections ii and 12 below. The present section is intended 
only as a preliminary statement 



§§ 3, 4.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



275 



§ 3. Egoism axd Altruism. — This fact leads us to in- 
troduce a certain modification into the view of the 
moral life that has been presented up to the present 
point. We have spoken of the great end of the moral 
life as self-realization. But since an individual is a 
member of a social unity, his supreme end will be not 
simply the perfecting of his own life, but also of the 
society to which he belongs. To a great extent the 
one end will indeed coincide with the other. Yet there 
appears, at least priiria facie, to be a certain possibility 
of conflict. Now when we seek simply our own in- 
dividual ends, this attitude is called Egoism ; while 
the term Altruisyn is used to denote devotion to the 
ends of others. It is of great importance to consider 
the precise relation of these two attitudes to one 
another, 

§ 4. IMr. Spenxer 's Conxiliatiox. — A good deal of 
attention has been given to this subject by Mr. Herbert 
Spencer,^ and he has endeavoured to show how a con- 
ciliation may be effected between the two attitudes. 
He points out that either of them, if carried to an ex- 
treme, is self-destructive. If every one were to seek 
only his own ends, this would be a bad way of secur- 
ing the ends even of any one individual. For each 
one stands frequently in need of help. On the other 
hand, if every one were to devote himself entirely to 
the good of others, this would be fatal to the good of 
others. For if each one neglected himself, he would 
deteriorate in his ability to help others. This point is 
worked out in a very interesting way by Mr. Spencer, 

Data of Ethics, chaps, xi. and xiv. Cf. Stephen's Scicuce of Ethics, 
chap, vi., Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 70-1, and Muirhead's, 
Elements of Ethics, pp. 164-5 



2/6 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. I. 



and he comes to the conclusion that what we should 
aim at is neither pure Egoism nor pure Altruism, but a 
compromise between them. He thinks also that the 
more completely society becomes developed, the more 
will the two ends tend to become identical. 

§ 5. Self-realization through Self-sacrifice. — The 
truth seems to be, however, that there is even less 
opposition between Egoism and Altruism than that 
which Mr. Spencer recognizes. We can realize the true 
self only by realizing social ends. In order to do this 
we must negate the merely individual self, which, as 
we have indicated, is not the true self. We must real- 
ize ourselves by sacrificing ourselves.^ The more fully 
we so realize ourselves, the more do we reach a uni- 
versal point of view — /. e, a point of view from which 
our own private good is no more to us than the good 
of any one else. No doubt it must always be neces- 
sary for us to take more thought for our own individual 
development than for that of any one else ; because 
each one best understands his own individual needs, 
and has the best means of working out his own nature 
to its perfection. But when this is done from the point 
of view of the whole, it is no longer properly to be de- 
scribed as Egoism. It is self-realization, but it is self- 
realization for the sake of the whole. In such self- 
realization the mere wishes and whims of the private 
self have been sacrificed, and we seek to develop our- 
selves in the same spirit and for the same ends as those 
in which and for which we seek to develop others. 
When we live in such a spirit as this, the opposition 
between Egoism and Altruism ceases. We seek neither 



1 C/. Caird's Hcgcl, pp. 210-21S. 



§§ 6, 7.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



277 



our own good simply nor the good of others simply, 
but the good both of ourselves and of others as mem- 
bers of a whole. Looking at the matter, therefore, 
from this point of view, it might be better to describe 
the ultimate end as the realization of a rational uni- 
verse, rather than as self-realization. 

§ 6. Ethics a Part of Politics. — We must recognize, 
in short, that man is, as Aristotle expressed it, ^'a po- 
litical animal," ' and that Ethics cannot be satisfacto- 
rily treated except as a part of Politics — /. e, as a part 
of the study of Society. Our duties and our virtues 
are at every point dependent on our relations to one 
another. This fact was more clearly recognized by 
some of the ancient Greek thinkers than it has been 
by many in modern times — for, in modern times, partly 
on account of the influence of Christianity, ^ we have 
come to think more of the independence of the indi- 
vidual. It may be w^ell, therefore, to glance for a 
moment at the way in which Ethics was regarded by 
Plato and Aristotle. 

§ 7. Plato's View OF Ethics. — Plato was so strongly 
impressed with the social nature of man, and with 
the necessity of studying his life in relation to society, 
that, in his study of Ethics, instead of inquiring into 
the characteristics of a virtuous life in an individual, 
he endeavoured first to determine the characteristics 
of a good state. Having found what these are, he 
considered that it would be perfectly easy to infer what 
are the characteristics of a good man. Accordingly, 
the great ethical treatise of Plato is the Republic^ in 

1 " TLoXniiCov C^(oov " (Politics, I. ii. 9). 

2 Partly also, no doubt, because our wider international relation- 
ships have made it impossible for us to regard any one social system 
as a complete ana exclusive unity m itselt. 



278 ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. I. 

which he gives a sketch of an ideal state. It seemed 
to him— in accordance with a classification that was 
current among the Greeks — that there were four great 
virtues required for the existence of an ideal state, viz. 
wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice ; and he 
thought that by observing exactly the significance of 
these virtues in the ideal state, he was able to see also 
what their exact significance must be in the life of the 
individual.^ 

§8. Aristotle's View of Ethics. — Aristotle was not 
less convinced than Plato of the essentially social 
nature of man. He began his great treatise on Ethics 
— perhaps the greatest that has ever been written — 
with a statement to the effect that Ethics is a part of 
Politics ; 2 and the greater part of his treatise is occupied 
with an investigation of the virtues that are required 
in a good citizen of a state such as he found in Greece, 
and especially in Athens. He did indeed think that 
there was a kind of life, what he called the contem- 
plative or speculative life (what we might call the life 
of science, or the life of the student), which was essen- 
tially higher than the life of political activity ; but he 

1 For a fuller account of Plato's Ethics, see Sidgwick's History of 
Ethics, pp. 35-51. Plato's Republic is a book of such interest and 
importance that every student ought to find some opportunity of 
reading it. It has been admirably translated both byjowettand by 
Davies and Vaughan. In connection with this, Dr. Bosanquet's 
Companion to Plato's Republic should by all means be used. 

2 In the wide sense in which the term Politics was used by the 
Greeks. Perhaps in modern times we should rather say that Ethics 
is a part of Social Philosophy. I have discussed this point in my 
Introduction to Social Philosophy, p. 48. On the relation between 
Ethics and Politics the student may profitably consult Sidgwick's 
Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap, il See also Muirhead's Elements 
of Ethics, Book I., chap, iii., § 14. 



§§ 9> 10.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



279 



considered that even this higher life must be built up 
on a basis of civic virtue. ^ 

§ 9. Cosmopolitism. — The best Ethics of the Greeks, 
then, was based on the conception of the State, as the 
sphere within which the life of the individual is to be 
realized. It was only after the best days of the Greek 
state were over, when everything was beginning to be 
crushed under the iron heel of Rome,^ that the Stoics 
began to speak of a TzoXtzeLa rod xocr/iodf and to think of 
the virtuous man (or "the wise man/' as they called 
him) as one who is bound by no particular social ties, 
but lives an independent life of his own. Even the 
Stoics, however, recognized that the good man is a 
citizen ; but they said that he ought to be ''a citizen 
of the world,'' not of any particular community. In 
this way his social relations were made so vague that 
it almost seemed as if they might be altogether ignored. 
There was a great elevation in much of the teaching 
of the Stoics ; but its want of any definite recognition 
of social relationships made it cold and hard, and some- 
what destitute of content. And often it was inflated 
with a certain false pride in the independence of the 
individual. 

§ 10. Christian Ethics. — Christianity may be said to 
have gone to some extent in the same direction as 
Stoicism. 3 It also was essentially cosmopolitan, and 
it also tended to insist on the independent life of the 
individual. 4 Each one must "work out his own 

1 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 51-70. 

2 See Caird's Hegel, pp. 204-207, Zeller's Stoics, Epicureans, and 
Sceptics, pp. 15-16, and Wallace's Epicureanism, chap, i 

« Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 114-117. 

4 Christianity insisted on the dignity of man as man more strongly 



280 



ETHICS. 



[3K. III., CH. T. 



salvation/' and must even forsake father and mother, 
and all other social relationships, in order to follow 
after the ideal life. Christianity represented the ideal 
life also as an imitation of a divine personality. Still,^ 
this was only one aspect of Christianity. It was no 
less emphatic in its insistence on the doctrine that we 
are members one of another/' and that in order to 
attain perfection we must recognise our essential unity 
both with each other and with God. The fact, how- 
ever, that Christianity had to make its way in an 
adverse world rendered it necessary at first to insist 
somewhat strongly on the need of isolation. Its fol- 
lowers had to recognize that they were *'not of the 
world,'' in order that they might keep their ideals pure. 
But after Christianity had to a great extent conquered 
the world, the other side — the social side — began to 
come out ; and it is perhaps on that side now that its 
significance is greatest. Whether we look, therefore, 
to ancient or to modern systems of morals, it is not 
difficult to see that the recognition of the essentially 
social nature of man plays a prominent part in all that 
is best in them. This being the case, it will be well 
now to abandon the view of the mere individual life 
as that which is to be perfected, and to consider rather 
what is involved in the perfection of society. 

§ 11. The Social Universe. — We must, however, first 
bring this point of view into relation to what has been 
already said with respect to the universes in which 
men habitually live. The life of every man, except an 
absolute madman, constitutes a more or less con- 

than even Stoicism had done. Stoicism proclaimed the dignity only 
of the wise man or philosopher ; whereas Christianity was preached 
to " publicans and sinners." 



II.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



281 



sistent whole. His actions fall within a more or less 
ordered scheme or plan. This whole, this plan, this 
totality of ends which a man pursues, we have agreed 
to describe as the universe within which he lives. 
Now this universe is always of a social character. 
Even the most original and even the most misanthropic 
of men cannot escape from the influence of the social 
environment by which they are formed. They inevi- 
tably imbibe something of what has been called ''the 
ethos of their people,'*' the moral point of view adopted 
by the race or nation or body of men among whom, 
or under the influence of whom, their lives are spent. 
This moral atmosphere in which they pass their lives 
supplies the main part of that universe within which 
their desires find scope. So much is this the case that 
a man always, except when in some abnormal state of 
mind, thinks of himself, not as an isolated personality, 
but as a member of some body. This fact is em- 
phasized even by a writer in some respects so indi- 
vidualistic as Mill.^ ''The social state,'' he says,^ 
"is at once so natural, so necessary, and so habitual 
to man, that, except in some unusual circumstances or 
by an effort of voluntary abstraction he never con- 
ceives himself otherwise than as a member of a body ; 
and this association is riveted more and more, as man- 
kind are further removed from the state of savage 
independence. Any condition, therefore, which is es- 
sential to a state of society, becomes more and more an 

1 This element in Mill's teaching is due, as he partly acknowledges 
two pages later, to the study of Comte. Cf. his Autobiography, chap, 
iv. Mill seems never to have made any serious effort to reconcile 
the elements which he derived from Comte with the general tenor 
of his philosophy. 2 Utilitarianism, chap, iii., pp, 46-7 



282 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. I, 



inseparable part of every person s conception of the 
state of things which he is born into, and which is the 
destiny of a human being/' For this reason, when we 
consider any large society of human beings, bound 
together by a common language, a common law, a 
common religion, a common interest, we may say in 
a broad sense that they all live habitually within the 
same universe. They will all be distinguished no 
doubt by individual peculiarities ; some of them will 
be more and some less affected by the common ties ; 
and even from year to year and from day to day the 
universe of each will be liable to considerable varia- 
tions. Still, speaking broadly, what the Germans call 
the Sitien, u e. the moral habitudes of a man's time 
and place, tend to overshadow the peculiarities of his 
individual nature, and to have a strong determining 
influence on his view of life and on his conception of 
his own vocation. The necessity of making himself 
intelligible to those around him, the immense advan- 
tage of understanding them, and the need of constantly 
co-operating with them, would of themselves be suf- 
ficient to bring about a certain homogeneity among 
the members of a community. And when we add to 
this the influences of heredity and education, the force 
is overwhelming. 

§ 12. Society an Organism. — These considerations 
may partly enable us to understand an idea which has 
become prevalent in recent times among writers of 
very diverse schools — the idea, namely, that a society 
of human beings is, as we have already indicated, to 
be regarded as an organic unity. The meaning of 
this is, broadly speaking, that just as we recognize a 
common life animating all the members of which a 



§12.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



283 



living body is composed, so we must acknowledge a 
similar unity among the members of a human society. 
This idea has sometimes been presented in the form of 
an analogy ; i, e. an attempt is made to draw parallels 
between the structures of human societies and the 
constitutions of animal or vegetable bodies.' Such 
analogies are no doubt occasionally suggestive ; but 
on the whole they supply more scope for ingenuity 
than for insight. The essential point seems to be that 
a human personality is never an isolated phenomenon. 
It is even inconceivable apart from certain relations to 
other personalities. The positive content of a man's 
moral life depends on these relationships : apart from 
them it would stagnate and die, very much as a limb 
dies when it is cut off from its organic connection with 
the body of which it forms a part. The whole of a 
man s moral life, all its purposes, all its meaning and 
value, receive their tone and colour from the ideals, 
the institutions, the moral habits, among which his 
life develops. This being so, it is important, in deal- 
ing with the moral life, not merely to consider the life 
of an individual man, but to have regard to the unity 
within which the main part of his life falls.* That, in 

1 This has been done, for instance, b}' Mr. Herbert Spencer in his 
Principles of Sociology, vol. i., part ii, ; and, in a still more elaborate 
form, by a German writer, Schaffle, in his Bau unci Lebcn dcs socialen 
Korpers. Mr. Leslie Stephen (Science of Ethics, p. 126) thinks it pre- 
ferable to speak of " social tissue " rather than of a " social organism," 
because there is no one abiding unity in which individuals are 
combined, as the parts are combined in an animal organism. 

2 On the organic nature of society, the student may be referred to 
Bradlers Ethical Studies, pp. 145-158, the Essay on " The Social 
Organism" by Prof. H. Jones in Essays in Philosophical Criticism, 
and Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 165—172. I have expressed 
my own view on this subject at greater length in my Introduction to 



284 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. I. 



spite of this unity, the individual has yet in a sense a 
private life of his own is a point that we shall have to 
consider at a later stage. 

§ 13. Why is the Social Universe to be Preferred ? — 
Now the question naturally presents itself at this point 
— Why should the social universe be preferred to the 
universe of the individual consciousness ? The answer, 
of course, from the point of view that we have now 
reached, is that the individual self is in its nature in- 
complete, and requires a larger whole for its realization. 
Such a larger whole might no doubt conceivably be 
found in something beyond and above human society ; 
and, if we were inventing a new morality, we might 
have to look about for such a larger universe. But 
if we accept the point of view of development, we 
must accept the only medium within which any actual 
process of moral development can be found. If it is 
true that the individual has no reality apart from the 
social whole, and that it is within that whole that his 
development takes place, the devotion to that whole 
has all the binding force which belongs to devotion to 
the Ideal Self. We cannot separate ourselves from the 
necessary medium of our evolution, and seek to per- 
fect ourselves in vacuo. The further discussion of this 
question, however, would lead us into a metaphysical 
investigation of the nature of the self, its relation to 
the social whole within which it develops, and to the 
universe in general. Such a discussion would be 
necessary for the complete establishment of the validity 
of the moral ideal. But it lies beyond the province of 

Social Philosophy, chap. iii. The student of the present handbook 
will probably understand this conception better after reading some 
of the following chapters. 



§ 14.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 285 

a work which does not profess to enter into meta- 
physics. We can only hint a little further, in our con- 
cluding chapter, at the nature of the problem involved. 
In the meantime, we must content ourselves with the 
effort to bring out the general significance of the social 
universe in its bearings on the moral life. 

§ 14. Relation of Conscience to the Social Unity. 
The importance of the social environment in the forma 
tion of what is commonly known as Conscience, has 
been noticed by a number of recent writers. This is 
emphasized, for instance, by Mill ' in his treatment of 
the moral sanctions.* Without endorsing all that has 
been said on this subject by him and others, it may at 
least be convenient to sum up at this point what has 
to be said on the nature of Conscience, and to indicate 
its relations to our social universe. 

It has been pointed out already that there is a certain 
ambiguity — indeed a twofold ambiguity — in the use of 
the term Conscience."^ It is sometimes used to ex- 
press the fundamental principles on which the moral 
judgment rests : at other times it expresses the principles 
adopted by a particular individual : at other times it 

1 Utilitarianism, chap. iii. Cf. also Bradley's Ethical Studies, p. 180 
Stephen's Science of Ethics, chap, viii., Clifford's Lectures and Essays 
(" On the Scientific Basis of Ethics "), and Dr. Starcke's article on 
" The Conscience " in the International Journal of Ethics, vol. ii. 
No. 3 (April, 1892), pp. 342-372. Hegel, in his Rechtsphilosophie, 
was, I think, the first writer who clearly brought out the social bear- 
ing of Conscience. Much of what Hegel says on this point will be 
found reproduced, in an excellent form, in Dewey's Outlines of Ethics 
pp. 182-199. 

2 On the meaning of the moral sanctions, see the Note at the end of 
chap. vi. 

3 See above, Book I., chap. VI. Cf. also Hegel's Philosophy of 
Right, §§ 136-139, 



286 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. I. 



means a particular kind of pleasure and pain felt in 
perceiving our own conformity or non-conformity to 
principle/' * The last seems to me to be the most con- 
venient acceptation of the term,* except that I should 
prefer to say simply that it is a feeling of pain accom- 
panying and resulting from our non-conformity to 
principle. 3 This sense of the term is evidently closely 
connected with the second sense ; for the principles in 
connection with which an individual feels pain are of 
course the principles recognized by him. Nevertheless, 
the first sense also is not entirely excluded : for even if 
an individual is not clearly conscious of the deeper 
principles of reason on which the final moral judgment 
depends, he will yet often feel a vague uneasiness 
when he goes against them. It is difficult to believe, 
for instance, that St. Paul's conscience was entirely 
at rest in the midst of his persecuting zeal, even if he 
did think that he was * ' doing God service. " However, 
in general no doubt the pain of Conscience accom- 
panies only the violation of clearly recognized duty. 

^ Starcke, loc. cit, p. 348. 

2 Chiefly because it gives the most definite meaning. When we 
go beyond this, we land ourselves in almost hopeless ambiguities. 

3 The element of mystery so often thought to attach to Conscience 
is, I think, largely due to the fact that it is often not accompanied by 
any divQct perception of " conformity or non-conformity to principle." 
A man has often simply an uneasy feeling of having gone wrong, 
without being able to say precisely what principle he has violated. 
Further, I am doubtful whether it is correct to speak of a pleasure of 
Conscience. Conformity to moral principle is the normal state ; and 
this may be regarded as the neutral point. Any violation of princi- 
ple, on the other hand, brings pain. The performance of duty 
leaves a man still in the position of an "unprofitable servant." 
** Spiritual pride," of course, is accompanied by a certain pleasure ; 
but should this be described as a pleasure of Conscience ? I think 
Carlyle was right on this point : " To say that we have at clear con- 



§14.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



287 



Now we have seen that the principles of duty which 
an individual recognizes are largely determined by the 
social universe which he inhabits. Hence his con- 
science also must be largely determined by this. ^ 
A man's conscience, we may say broadly, attaches 
itself to that system of things which he regards as 
highest. There is, indeed, a certain feeling of pain, 
analogous to that of Conscience, in connection with 
every universe in which a man lives, whether he 
regards it as the highest or not. Thus, there is a feel- 
ing of pain or shame ^ accompanying the violation of 
rules of etiquette or good taste, or even accompanying 
the consciousness of any physical defect or awkward- 
science is to utter a solecism ; had we never sinned, we should 
have had no conscience." See his Essay on Characteristics." 
Of course, there is a certain gratification accompanying the fulfil- 
ment of unaccustomed duties. If a man gets drunk only twice in 
the course of the week, instead of three times as usual, or if he tells 
the truth when there was a strong temptation to lie, he may feel 
pleased in reviewing his action. But there does not appear to be the 
same spontaneity and immediacy in this feeling as there is in the 
case of the corresponding pain ; nor is its character so purely moral. 
It is more akin to the pleasure of solving a difficult problem. I sus- 
pect that, just as there is no pleasure of the teeth, corresponding to 
toothache ; so there is, strictly speaking, no pleasure of the con- 
science, corresponding to its characteristic pain. 

1 Hence Clifford's idea of a " tribal self "—a self which belongs to 
a man's tribe or society, and to which his mere individual self is 
subordinate. Clifford says, as w^e have seen, that a man's conscience 
is " the voice of his tribal self." The pain of his conscience is equiv- 
alent to his saying to himself, " In the name of my tribe, I hate my- 
self for this treason which I have done." See above. Book I., 
chap, v., and cf. Muirhead's Elements oj Ethics, pp. 157-9. 

2 The Greek word aiSw?, usually translated " shame," seems to be 
very nearly equivalent to what we understand by Conscience, at 
least in one of its aspects. Cf. Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 321, 
and Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 285-6. 



288 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. I. 



ness, even if we are aware, not only that the universe 
within which these things lie is not of supreme impor- 
tance, but even that it does not lie within the power 
of our will to avoid such deficiencies. Such a feeling 
might be called a ^^/as/-Conscience. ' On reflection we 
perceive either that we are not responsible for such 
shortcomings, or that they are not of serious moral 
importance ; but the feeling at the moment is scarcely 
distinguishable from that of Conscience proper. Some- 
times such a feeling may even conflict with Conscience. 
Thus, the performance of duty may involve a violation 
of etiquette ; so that, in whichever way we act, we are 
bound to have the pain either of Conscience or of quasi- 
Conscience. Again, Conscience sometimes attaches 
itself to a universe which has been transcended. 
When we have recently passed from one universe to 
another, Conscience will generally be found to have 
lagged a little behind, and to attach itself to the older 
universe rather than to the newer one. Feeling," as 
Mr. Muirhead says, ^ ''is the conservative element in 
human life." It does not attach itself to a new 

1 An excellent illustration of this is given by Mr. Muirhead {Ele- 
ments of Ethics, p. 77) in an extract from Prof. Royce's Religious 
Aspect of Philosophy (pp. 53-4): ''You ride, using another man's 
season ticket, or you tell a white lie, or speak an unkind word, and 
conscience, if a little used to such things, never winces. But you 
bow to the wrong man in the street, or you mispronounce a word, 
or you tip over a glass of water, and then you agonize about your 
shortcoming all day long ; yes, from time to time for weeks. Such 
an impartial judge is the feeling of what you ought to have done.' 
For similar illustrations, see Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 323, and 
Spencer's Principles of Ethics, p. 337. 

2 Elements of Ethics, p. 80. Cf. the saying of Mr. Jacobs, quoted 
by Miss Wedgwood {The Moral Ideal, p. 233), "The thoughts of one 
generation form the feelings of its successor." 



§14.] 



THE SOCIAL UNITY. 



289 



universe, until we have thoroughly lived into it and 
made ourselves at home in it ; nor does it sever itself 
from an old universe, until we have thoroughly broken 
off our connection with it. Hence a man will often 
feel a pain of Conscience, or ^wasz-Conscience, in doing 
an action which his reason has taught him to regard as 
perfectly allowable ' or even as a positive duty ; while, 
on the other hand, he will often be able to violate 
a recently discovered obligation without feeling any 
pain. 2 In general, however, the pains of Conscience 
attend any inconsistency with the principles which we 
recognize as highest ; and these, in general, are the 
principles recognized as binding within the social 
universe in which we habitually live. 3 

With these remarks, we may pass on to the more 
detailed consideration of social ethics — i, e. to the con- 
sideration of the moral order within which the life of 

1 "The contradiction between reason and feeling which some of 
us will recollect, when first we permitted ourselves to take a row or 
attend a concert on Sunday, is a good example from contemporary 
life" (Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 80). 

2 Hence, partly, the frequency of '* back-sliding " in converts to 
new principles. Conscience does not respond to their shortcom- 
ings with sufficient readiness. It may be noted here also that it is 
often possible to stifle Conscience by transferring ourselves from 
one universe to another. Thus, a man may perform, under the in- 
fluence of fanatical zeal, acts of cruelty from which, in his normal 
state, he would shrink in horror. He stifles Conscience by escaping 
from the universe in which such acts are condemned into one in 
which they are rather approved. A good illustration of this is 
given by Macaulay in his account of the state of mind of the Master 
of Stair in sanctioning the massacre of Glencoe {History of Englandy 
chap, xviii.). 

3 For general discussion of the subject of Conscience, see Porter's 
Elements of Moral Science, Part I., chap, xvi., Dewey's Outlines of 
Ethics, pp. 182-206, and Muirhead's Elements cf Ethics, pp. 73-84 and 
238-24?. 



290 



ETHICS. 



[BK. III., CH. L 



the individual is spent, and of the relation of the indi- 
vidual life to that moral order. Of course this can be 
done, in such a work as this, only in the most sketchy- 
fashion. But some remarks on the ethical significance 
of the recognized moral institutions, duties and virtues, 
may be found helpful. 



§1.] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS, 



291 



CHAPTER II. 

MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 

§ 1. The Social Imperative. — We have seen to some 
extent what the nature of the ought'' is. It is, as 
we may say, the law imposed by our ideal self upon 
our actual self. Since, however, the ideal self is the 
rational self, and since the rational self is not realized 
in isolation, but in a society of human beings, it 
follows that this ^' oughf is imposed on societies as 
well as on individuals. As I\Ir. Herbert Spencer says, ' 
"we must consider the ideal man as existing in the 
ideal social state''; and in considering such an ideal 
we pass a criticisnl not only on existing men, but on 
existing social states. Not only can we say that an 
individual ought io act in such and such a way, but we 
can also say that a society ought to have such and such 
a constitution. 2 In so far as an individual acts as he 
ought to act, we say that his conduct is right, and that 
he is a good, upright, or moral man. In so far as a 
society is constituted as it ought to be, we say that it is 
a well-ordered society, and that its constitution is just. 
In each case we compare actually existing men or 
states with the ideal of a rational man and a rationally 

1 Data of Ethics, chap, xvi., § 106. 

^ It may be asked, On whom is this ought " imposed ? The 
answer is, on the society as a whole, and more particularly on its 
politicians and other " active citizens." 



292 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II. 



constituted state. The latter of these we must now 
briefly consider. ^ 

§ 2, Justice. — Blessed/' it is said, ''are they that 
hunger and thirst after justice. " ^ But perhaps it is more 
easy to hunger and thirst after it than to define pre- 
cisely what it means. Here, at any rate, we can only 
indicate its nature in the vaguest and most general 
way. For a fuller treatment reference must be made 
to works on Politics. 

A just arrangement of society may be briefly defined 
as one in which the ideal life of all its members is 
promoted as efficiently as possible. The constitution 
of a society is, therefore, unjust w^hen large classes in 
it are so enslaved by others as to be unable to develop 
their own lives. It is unjust, for instance, when there 
is any class in it so poor, or so hard- worked, or so 
dependent on others, as to be unable to cultivate their 
faculties and make progress towards the perfection of 

1 A complete discussion of this subject belongs rather to Politics 
or Social Philosophy than to Ethics. But it seems necessary to 
consider it here, in so far as it can be dealt with from a purely 
ethical point of view. Some of the points dealt with here are some- 
what more fully discussed in my Introduction to Social PJiilosophyy 
chaps. V. and vi. English writers on Ethics have, as a rule, not given 
much attention to the subjects referred to in this chapter. Reference 
may, however, be made to Stephen's Science of Ethics, chap, iii., 
Porter's Elements of Moral Science, Part. II., chaps, xiii. — xvi., Rick- 
aby's Moral Philosophy, and Clark IMurray's Introduction to Ethics^ 
Book II., Part II., chap. i. For fuller treatment the student must 
consult such wwks as those of Hoffding and Paulsen. Some of the 
points are also referred to by Prof. Gizycki, w^hose work has been 
adapted for the use of English readers by Dr. Stanton CoiL Hegel's 
Philosophic des Rechts must, however, still be regarded as the model 
for the treatment of this whole subject. It has recently been trans- 
lated into English by Professor Dyde. 

2 The Greek word St/caioo-vi/i?, translated " righteousness," may 
equally well be rendered by " justice." 



3-] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



their nature.^ It is unjust when the idle are protected 
and set in power, and the laborious are crushed down 
and degraded. 

To free society from such arrang^ements as these has 
been one of the chief efforts, perhaps the chief effort, of 
the wise and good in all ages ; and there are certainly 
few things to which a student of Applied Ethics should 
give more attention than the methods by w'hich this 
has been and may still be done. The subject is, how- 
ever, much too complicated for such an elementary 
treatise as this, or indeed for any treatise ; and all that 
we can here do is to indicate some of the main points 
that have to be attended to in constructing a just order 
of society.^ 

§ 3. Law and Public Opixiox. — The first thing to be 
observed is that a just arrangement of society can be 
only to a certain extent e?2/orced. The saying has 
often been quoted — 

" How small of all that human hearts endure 
That part which kings or laws can cause or cure ! " 

And it is partly true, if it be taken to apply simply to 
that which can be directly and immediately accom- 
plished by positive laws. Laws are inefficient when a 

1 In a just social state, every human being must be treated as an 
absolute end. It follows from this, however, that no one can be 
treated as the absolute end : otherwise ever}' one else would be 
treated only as a means with reference to this one. Hence every 
one must be treated at once as means and as end. 

2 The accounts of Justice given by Plato and Aristotle {Republic 
and Ethics) have never been surpassed. For more modern discus- 
sions, the student may be referred to Mill's Utilitarianism, chap, v., 
'Siidgwicyis Methods of Ethics , Book III., chap, v., and Principles of 
Political Economy, Book III., chaps, vi. and vii., and Stephen's Science 
of Ethics, chap, v., §§ 35-39. See the Note at the end of this chapter. 



294 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II. 



people is by nature lawless ; and when a people has 
become orderly or wise, laws may often be allowed to 
sink into abeyance. The conditions of life are con- 
tinually changing, and positive laws which were 
beneficial at one time begin gradually to have a perni- 
cious effect. It is, consequently, in many departments 
of life of far more importance to try to develop good 
habits of action and of opinion in a people than to 
furnish it with hard and fast positive enactments.^ 
Nevertheless, the sphere of positive law is a great one. 
Public opinion grows very slowly, and there are always 
considerable bodies in a community who are unaffected 
by it, unless it takes the form of definite laws, with 
punishments attached. Sometimes, after such laws 
have fulfilled their purpose, it becomes desirable to 
repeal them. St. Paul said of the Jewish law that 
it was ''a schoolmaster to lead men to Christ''; mean- 
ing that as soon as men grasped the true meaning of 
the moral ideal they could dispense with the narrow 
injunctions of the law, which, nevertheless, were 
necessary as a preparation. So it is with nearly all 
laws. They are too rigid and formal for human beings, 
as soon as they attain to true freedom ; but they are 
necessary at first as a check upon licentiousness. 
What men do at first from fear, they learn by and by 
to do from habit, and afterwards from conscious will. 
Law comes first, then habit, then virtue.^ 

1 This seems to express the element of truth in much of what is 
said by Mr. H. Spencer in his famous, but extremely one-sided book, 
The Man versus the State. Some aspects of the same point are 
brought out, in a more guarded way, in Aspects of the Social Problem, 
edited by Dr. Bosanquet. 

2 Mr.Muirhead quotes {Elements of Ethics, p. 93, note), a story about 
Connop Thirlwall. " who on one occasion became involved in a 



§4.] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



29s 



§ 4. Rights and Obligations. — The forces of law and 
of public opinion are mainly concerned with the estab- 
lishment of men's rights and obligations. These terms 
are strictly correlative. Every right brings an obliga- 
tion with it ; and that not merely in the obvious sense 
that when one man has a right other men are under an 
obligation to respect it^ but also in the more subtle 
sense that when a man has a right he is thereby laid 
under an obligation to employ it for the general good. 
This fact is concealed from many men's minds through 
a certain confusion between legal and moral obliga- 
tion. It is generally convenient to enforce the ob- 
servance of rights by positive laws ; whereas it is 
not generally convenient to enforce the corresponding 
obligation. Hence it comes to be thought that there is 
no obligation at all. For instance, it is convenient to pro- 
tect property ; whereas it would be very troublesome 
and dangerous to try to compel men to use their pro- 
perty wisely — and indeed any such attempt, beyond 
certain narrow limits, is almost bound to defeat its own 
ends. Hence it comes to be said that a man may 
do what he likes with his own." Legally^ he may; 
but morally, he is under the obligation to use his own 
for the general good, just as strictly as if it were an- 
other's. A man's rights, in fact, are nothing more than 
those things which, for the sake of the general good, it 
is convenient that he should be allowed to possess. 

discussion with the late Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, Bishop of 
Lincoln, when the latter was residing at Trinity College, about the 
retention of enforced attendance at chapel. ' It is a choice,' said the 
Bishop, between compulsory religion and no religion at all.' ' The 
distinction,' replied Thirlwall, * is too subtle for my mental grasp, 
The same might be said of compulsory morality • it is equivalent 



296 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. 11. 



And since it is for the sake of the general good that he 
possesses them, he is bound to use them for that end. 
By himself, a man has no right to anything whatever. 
He is a part of a social whole ; and he has a right only 
to that which it is for the good of the whole that he 
should have. Let us consider very briefly the nature 
of some of the more important of these rights. 

§ 5. The Rights of Man. {a) Life, — The first of 
human rights is the right to live. This right follows at 
once from the fact that the moral end is a personal one 
—a form of self-realization. If the end which men 
sought were some impersonal object, life might reason- 
ably be sacrificed to that. And, indeed, as the self to 
be realized is the social self, the individual will some- 
times be justified in sacrificing his life for the sake of 
his society. But such cases are exceptional. As a 
rule, the human good requires the continuance of life 
for its realization. Hence it is important that the 
sacredness of life should be recognized. In some prim- 
itive forms of society even this fundamental right is 
not acknowledged. Children are frequently exposed, 
and captives in war are put to death without hesita- 
tion. And even in partly civilized communities the 
sacredness of life is sometimes very lightly treated — 
e. g, where the practice of duelling is permitted. In- 
deed if the value of life were fully appreciated, there 
can be little doubt that even war would soon be abo- 
lished among civilized nations. At present, however, 

to no morality at all." This is of course true ; yet compulsory 
morality may form an education towards true morality. This would 
also have been at least a partial answer to Thirlwall. Cf, Hoff- 
ding's Outlines of Psychology ^ p. 76. Mr. Muirhead notices the quali- 
fication at a later stage, pp. 179-180. 



§5.] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



297 



it remains a true maxim, Si vis pacem para helium. 
Again, it must be observed that the right of life cannot 
be said to be really secured to all the citizens of a com- 
munity unless the means of obtaining a livelihood are 
secured. The right to live thus seems to involve the 
right to labour. ' 

The right of life, like all rights, brings an obligation 
with it — viz, the obligation of treating life, both one's 
own and that of others, as a sacred thing. He who 
violates this obligation — e. g, by murder — forfeits 
the right of life, and may legitimately be deprived 
of it. 

(i) Freedom, — The next right is that of freedom. 
The necessity of this rests mainly on the fact that the 
moral ideal has to be realized by the individual will. 
Hence the individual, in order to realize his supreme 
end, must be free to exercise his will. The recognition 
of this right usually comes much later than that of life. * 
Slavery existed long after the stage at which prisoners 

1 This point was emphasized by Louis Blanc and some other 
sociahstic writers. The question how far, and by what means, such 
a right is to be secured, must be left to writers on Politics and Eco- 
nomics, who again must probably hand it over in the end to the prac- 
tical good sense of mankind. 

2 Hegel remarked {Philosophy of History ^ Introduction) that the 
Oriental nations recognized only that one is free—/, e, the Despot : 
the Greeks, on the other hand, recognized that some are free — viz. 
the Greek citizens themselves— while Barbarians were thought to 
be naturally fitted for slavery : while it has been reserved for modern 
times, under the influence of Christianity, to demand that all shall 
be free. This demand has been especially prominent since the time 
of the Reformation. Sometimes it is even pushed to an extreme^ 
e. g. by Rousseau and by the Economists of the laissez faire school. 
For extreme views in recent times, see A Plea for Liberty and Spen- 
cer's The Man versus the State ; and for a criticism of these \iews, 
see Ritchie's Principles of State Interference, 



298 



ETHICS. 



[BK. III., CH. II. 



of war were put to death ; and even now, after the 
abolition of slavery, the conditions of contract with 
regard to labour and to property are often of such a 
kind as seriously to interfere with men's liberty in the 
conduct of their lives. Of course freedom in any ab- 
solute sense is not possible, and ought not to be aimed 
at. It can never be permissible in any well-ordered 
community that its members should do as they please. 
The right which it is desirable to secure is the right of 
having the free development of one's life as little inter- 
fered with as is possible, consistently with the main- 
tenance of social order. 

The right of freedom brings with it the obligation of 
using one's freedom for the attainment of rational ends. 
Milton rightly said of liberty, who love that must 
first be wise and good.''' It is only on this assump- 
tion that liberty can be granted in a well-ordered state. 
Hence the slowness in the acquisition of freedom is 
not without justification. Freedom is not a com- 
modity that can be bought or given : it must be 
earned. 

(c) Property, — The right of property may almost be 
regarded as part of the right of freedom. Nearly all 
the ends at which a man can aim require instruments ; 
and if a man has not the right to use these instru- 
ments, his liberty of pursuing the ends is practically 
rendered void. Since, however, instruments — espe- 
cially such instruments as the soil of a country — are 
limited in amount, it becomes a difficult question to 

1 Cf. also what Milton says on this point in his Tenure of Kings and 
Magistrates, ^ I : "None can love freedom heartily, but good men: 
the rest love not freedom, but licence ; which never hath more scope 
or more indulgence than under tyrants." 



§ 5-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 299 

decide how the use of them is to be apportioned among 
the members of a community. If their use is reserved 
for a few, the great majority of the citizens are to a 
certain extent deprived of their Uberty. The discus- 
sion of this question, however, must be left to writers 
on Politics. From a purely ethical point of view, we 
can only insist on the importance of the right of pro- 
perty, as a means of securing the possibility of a free 
development of life. 

The right of property involves the obligation to use 
it wisely for the general good. In communities where 
the fulfilment of this obligation cannot in the main be 
relied on, the right of property cannot be granted. In 
primitive communities there is practically no such 
right. Everything is possessed in common. It is only 
as men become civilized and educated that they begin 
to be capable of being entrusted with property ; and 
even then it is usually necessary that the right should 
be carefully guarded against misuse. ^ Some writers 
(e, g, Plato) have thought that in an ideal state there 
ought to be a community of goods, and no right of 
private property. ^ But this appears to be a mistake. 

1 Strictly speaking, from a purely ethical point of view, it may be 
said that a man has no right to any kind of property except that 
which he has made an essential part of his own being. Hence a 
German writer, G. Simmel, says pointedly, " Ich habe wirklich nur 
das w^as ich bin " (" Strictly speaking I possess nothing but what I 
am") {Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft, p. 172). But of course it 
would be impossible to observe this principle in practical politics. 
This does not, however, make it any the less important to take 
account of it. 

2 See his Republic, Books IV. and V. The precise extent to which 
Plato intended to carry out the principle of community is not 
altogether clear. For a recent advocacy of communism, see Morris's 
News from Nowhere. 



3O0 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II. 



Aristotle was probably right in thinking' rather that in 
an ideal state every one should have the free use of the 
necessary instruments,^ but should be taught to use 
them for the common good. 

(d) Contract. — Another important right is the right to 
the fulfilment of contracts. If one man engages to 
render certain services to another, the second has the 
right to receive these services. In primitive societies 
there is scarcely any such thing as contract. The rela- 
tions of men to one another are fixed almost from their 
birth, and are altered only by force. 3 Hence it has 
been said^ that societies develop ''from status to con- 
tract.'' 

The right of contract involves the obligation to enter 
into no contracts except those that can be reasonably 
fulfilled. A man is not at liberty, for instance, to con- 
tract himself into slavery. 5 Nor is anyone entitled, 
even if he were able, to enter into such a contract as 
that of Faust with Mephistopheles. Hence the right 
of contract, like that of property, is possible only in a 

'^Politics, II., V. 

2 Whether land, and other forms of property that are not capable 
of being indefinitely multiplied, can be dealt with on the same prin- 
ciple, is a much more difficult question. 

3 On the other hand, in modern times, contract has become so 
common a method of entering into relationship, that some writers 
have been tempted to think that all relationships are founded on 
such engagements. The State, for instance, was said to rest on a 
" social contract." Hobbes and Rousseau were the chief upholders 
of this view. An eloquent attack was made on it by Burke in his 
Reflections on the Revolution in France. See Muirhead's Elements of 
Ethics, p. 177, note. There is a good criticism in Hume's Essays 
(" Of the Original Contract "). ■* Maine's Ancient Law, chap. v. 

5 Hence the fallacy of Carlyle's view, that slavery consists simply 
in hiring a man's services for life. See his Latter-Day Pamphlets. A 
man has no right to contract away his own freedonx 



§6.] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



301 



highly-developed community, and even then requires 
considerable safeguards. ' 

(e) Education. — The last right which it seems neces- 
sary to notice here, is the right of education. In this 
case the right and obligation are so closely united that 
it is scarcely possible to distinguish them. Every one, 
we may say, has both the right and the obligation of 
being educated according to his capacity ; since educa- 
tion is necessary for the realization of the rational self. 
This is a right which has been but tardily recognized 
even in some highly-civilized countries ; and even now 
in many of them the highest kinds of education are 
practically inaccessible to the mass of the people. But 
it is clear that in a well-ordered state every one ought 
to have the means of developing his faculties to the 
best advantage. 

§ 6. Ultimate Meaning of Rights and Obligations. — 
A little reflection may convince us that the ultimate 
significance of rights and obligations is simply this. 
We have a right to the means that are necessary for 
the development of our lives in the direction that is 
best for the highest good of the community of which 
we are members ; and we are under the obligation to 
use the means in the best way for the attainment of 
this end.* 

1 Men who are in a disadvantageous position (owing to poverty, 
for instance) are apt to be induced to form contracts on unfair con- 
ditions. It is desirable tiiat they should be, as far as possible, guarded 
against this. 

2 Of course I refer here to rights and obligations in the ethical 
sense. To what extent, and by what means, these rights and obliga- 
tions are to be acknowledged and enforced in actual states, are 
questions for the political philosopher. On these subjects reference 
may be made to Sidgwick's Elements of PoliticSf especially chaps, iii. 
— vl, and chap. x. 



302 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II. 

§ 7. Social Institutions. — There are various ways 
in which men group themselves together in a society ; 
and the relations in which they are thus brought to 
one another are often of so much ethical significance 
that it is desirable to notice briefly some of the more 
important of them. 

(a) The Family. — ^The family is based on natural 
affection. Its chief objects are to provide adequate 
protection and care for the helplessness of childhood, 
and at the same time to provide an adequate sphere 
for the highest forms of friendship and love. It is 
thought that as a rule the former object can be better 
secured by the affection of the parents than it could be 
by any state arrangements ; ' and that the latter object 
is best fulfilled within a narrow circle.^ The control 
of parents, however, requires to be in many ways 
limited. Thus it seems necessary to enforce the proper 
education of children, and to prevent them from being 
employed in unsuitable work at too early an age. 
The relation of husband and wife in the family is pro- 
perly one of equality ; but where this is not secured 
by mutual affection, it seems impossible for any state 
regulations to prevent the subordination of one to the 
other, without an intolerable interference with indi- 

1 Plato, however, thought otherwise. See his Republic, Book V. 

2 Among the Greeks, in the classical age, the highest forms of 
friendship were practically always between men. The low position 
of women prevented them from sharing in the higher life of the 
citizen. Greek views of the family life are almost entirely vitiated 
by this fact ; just as their views of industrial life are vitiated by their 
acceptance of slavery, and by their contempt for all forms of manual 
labour except agriculture. On the Family, see Hegel's Philosophy 
of Right ; also Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, Part II., chap, vi., and 
Devas's Studies of Family Life. Aristotle's treatment of the subject 
in the first two Books of the Politico is still highly suggestive. 



§ 7.] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 303 

vidual liberty. This is, therefore, a matter on which 
it is important to develop a strong public opinion. A 
good deal, however, can be done by law in removing 
disabilities which stand in the way of the recognition 
of perfect equality. ' 

(b) Tlie Workshop, — Industrial relations are strongly 
contrasted with those of the family. They are not 
based on mutual affection but on contract ; and they 
are not relations of equality but of subordination. No 
doubt, in the family also there is the subordination of 
children to their parents ; but this is the subordination 
of the undeveloped to the developed, of the helpless to 
their natural protectors ; whereas in the industrial life 
the subordination which exists is not with a view 
to the protection or development of those who are 
subordinated, but simply with a view to external ends. 
In these circumstances it is important to make such re- 
gulations as will secure fairness of contract, and prevent 
subordination from becoming slavery. It has some- 
times been made a matter of regret that, as civilization 
advances, the relations of men in industrial life depart 
more and more from the type of the family. Formerly 
the relation between master and apprentice was almost 

1 Mr. Leslie Stephen has objected {Science of EthicSy chap, iii., §§ 
36-39) to the common practice of classing the family along with 
other forms of social organization, on the ground that it rests on 
physiological necessities, and that it is rather a basis than a result 
of political unity. For a student of sociology or politics this con- 
tention would, I think, have some force. The ethical significance of 
the family, however, does not appear to me to be affected by it 
Besides, the existence of the family, in any developed sense of the 
term, seems to require some kind of legal or g^asMegal sanctions, 
enforcing acknowledged rights of marriage, whether in the form of 
polyandry, polygamy, or monogamy. It thus presupposes social 
organization, and varies v/ith the growth of that organization, 



304 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II 



of a paternal character ; whereas now, as CarlyJe used 
to say, ' there is nothing but the cash itexus.^ But 
it is doubtful whether this ought to be made a matter 
for regret. A paternal relationship easily passes into 
tyranny when there is no basis of natural affection. It 
is probably best that business relationships should be 
made a matter of pure contract. This may to some 
slight extent interfere with the development of relations 
of mutual kindness and loyalty ; but there can be little 
doubt that to a much greater extent it helps to prevent 
injustice. The feelings of kindness are more likely to 
arise in men as neighbours and fellow-citizens than as 
masters and servants ; ^ and the practical offices of help 
can probably be better undertaken by society as a 
whole than by particular employers. 

At the same time it cannot be doubted that anything 
that can be done to make the relation of subordination 
less harsh is in the highest degree desirable. For this 
reason all forms of co-operation that are practicable 
ought to be earnestly promoted. The question, What 
kinds of industry ought to be encouraged or discour- 
aged ? is also largely an ethical question ; though the 
methods by which industries may advantageously be 
promoted or impeded, must be left to be discussed by 
economists and political philosophers. Under modern 
conditions of industrial life, industries are promoted or 
retarded chiefly^ by changes in the demand for the 
objects produced by them ; and these again are brought 

1 See his Past and Present; and cf. below, pp. 346, 410. 

2 At least in the former relationship they are more likely to 
become widely diffused : perhaps when they do arise in the latter 
relationship, they are apt to be more intense. 

2 Setting aside changes in natural conditions, and changes pro- 



§ 7-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 305 

about mainly by changes in men's tastes, fashions, 
and habits of life. Now in so far as the objects brought 
into demand by such changes are necessary for the 
preservation or maintenance or advancement of human 
life, and in so far as the industries by which they are 
produced are not injurious to human life, there can be 
no question about their moral justification. The ethical 
question, therefore, arises chiefly with regard to the 
use of what are called luxuries, and to the use of 
objects which can be produced only by means of 
dangerous or deleterious processes. And the question 
which thus arises can be answered only by balancing 
the advantages which such objects bring towards the 
advancement of the supreme end of life against the loss 
occasioned by their injurious effects.' 

(c) The Civic Community, — If men's business relations 
are to be purely a matter of contract, it is necessary 
that the community as a whole should undertake those 
more paternal functions which cannot conveniently 
be left to the care of individuals. This is partly the 
business of the central government ; but to a great 
extent it can be more conveniently managed by each 
district for itself The care which has to be exercised 
over the citizens consists in such matters as the pro- 
vision of sanitary arrangements (including baths, and 

duced by new discoveries and inventions, with which Ethics is 
only very indirectly concerned (since the question, how far men 
should be allowed to make and utilize new discoveries can scarcely 
at the present time be regarded as a practical one). 

1 There have been several interesting discussions of Luxury in re- 
cent times. See, for instance, Bosanquet's Civilization of Christen- 
dom, MacCunn's Ethics of Citizenship, L. Stephen's Social Rights and 
Duties, Smart's Studies in Economics, and the article by Professor 
Sidgwdck in the International Journal of Ethics, Vol. V. no. i. 
Eth. 20 



3o6 



ETHICS. [BK. IIL, CH. II. 



the like), the means of education (including well- 
furnished public libraries), the enforcement of pre- 
cautions against accidents, the prevention of adultera- 
tion of foods and other forms of deception, and the 
securing of the means of livelihood to those who are 
incapacitated for labour. The discussion of the details 
of such provisions, and of the question whether they 
can be best managed by a central authority or by local 
administrations, must be left to writers on Politics. 

(d) The Church, — -The paternal care of the citizens, 
however, cannot be fully provided by any form of civic 
machinery. There must always be a certain hardness 
in all such machinery, which must be managed on 
a basis of law and not of affection. Hence it is 
necessary that it should be supplemented by more per- 
sonal relations among the citizens. A centre for such 
personal relationships is furnished by the Church, 
whose function it is to secure the carrying out of the 
highest moral ideal in human relationships. It is 
greatly to be regretted that differences of religious 
opinion prevent the Church from being so efficient 
in this way as it might otherwise be. There can be 
little doubt that in the Middle Ages, under the sway of 
Catholicism, its work was more efficiently done — if it 
is in reality possible to compare the action of institu- 
tions under very different conditions of social life. 
Perhaps it may be found necessary to supplement the 
work of the Churches by unsectarian ethical institutions. 
But the discussion of this question would not be suitable 
for an elementary text-book ; ' and indeed it could 

1 It is, however, discussed at considerable length by Prof. Gizycki 
in his Introduction to the Study oj Ethics (Dr. Coit's adaptation), chap, 
ix. 



§ /.] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 307 

scarcely be satisfactorily answered without introducing 
considerations that are not of a purely ethical char- 
acter. The same remark applies to the discussion of 
the important question of the right relation of the 
Churches to the State. 

{e) The State. — The State is the supreme controller 
of all social relationships. It makes laws and sees that 
they are enforced. It also carries on various kinds of 
work that cannot conveniently be left to private en- 
terprise. It undertakes, for instance, the provision of 
the means of national defence, the conveyance of 
letters, and in some countries the conducting of rail- 
ways. The extent to which it is desirable that such 
work should be undertaken by the State, cannot be 
discussed in an ethical treatise. But it is important to 
insist that any one who seeks to answer this question, 
must answer it by a consideration of the degree to 
which such action tends to promote the highest life of 
the citizens of the State. 

(_/) Friendship, These are some of the leading 
forms of social unity, but the relationships between 
human beings, through which the moral life is devel- 
oped, are not exhausted by these. Such a relationship 
as that of individual friendship has also to be noted. 
This was a form of unity to which the ancient Greek 
writers on Ethics gave special attention, and, in par- 
ticular, it rose into the highest degree of prominence in 
the speculations of the Epicureans, with whom it may 
almost be said to have taken the place of the State. In 
modern times the expansion of man's social universe 
through books, travel, <fec. , may have somewhat dimin- 
ished the significance of these closer personal ties ; but 
it still remains true that in a friend a man may find an 



3o8 



ETHICS. 



[3K. III., CH. II. 



alter ego through whom the universe of his personality is 
enlarged in a more perfect way than is possible by any 
other form of relationship, especially in cases of ideal 
friendship like that of Tennyson and Haliam, when it 
can be said, ''He was rich where I was poor." This 
also, however, is a form of relationship to which we 
can do nothing more than allude.^ 

§ 8. Social Progress. —All the institutions to which 
reference has now been made, are continually under- 
going changes, which are rendered necessary by the 
progressive civilization of mankind. In carrying out 
such changes it is important to see that they are not 
made with a view to merely temporary advantages, 
and that the advantages which they secure are not 
bought with any loss of human efficiency. The ulti- 
mate standard by which all progress must be tested is 
the realization of the rational self. Material and social 
progress is valuable only in so far as it is a means 
to this. The nature of this progress will be somewhat 
more fully considered in a succeeding chapter. 

§ 9. Individualism and Socialism. — In recent times 
discussions with regard to social progress have ap- 
peared chiefly in the form of the question, whether we 
ought to move in an individualistic or in a socialistic 
direction. Individualists think that it is chiefly impor- 
tant to secure, as far as possible, the freedom of action 
of the individual citizens. Socialists, on the other 
hand, think that what is chiefly desirable is to regulate 
the actions of individuals so as to secure the good of 
all. It does not appear, however, that there is any 

1 The discussion of Friendship in Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics 
is perhaps still the best that we have. See also MacCunn's Ethics 
Citizenships II. 



9.] 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



real opposition between the principles of Individualism 
and of Socialism.' The good of all can certainly not 
be secured if the nature of each is cramped and under- 
fed ; nor can freedom be allowed to each except on the 
assumption that that freedom will on the whole be used 
for the good of all. The question that ought to be 
asked is — In what directions is it desirable to give men 
more freedom, and in what directions is it desirable 
that their actions should be more controlled? It is a 
question of detail, and it must be answered differently 
at different stages of human development. Perhaps at 
the present time it is chiefly in the socialistic direction 
that advance is demanded. But the reason is simply 
that in recent generations the individualistic side has 
been too strongly insisted on. This again is mainly 
due to the fact that in recent times the main social 
advance has consisted in the emancipation of highly- 
skilled labour from cumbersome restraints. The pro- 
blem of the next age is rather that of providing a truly 
human life for those who are less skilled and capable, 
and who are consequently less able to look after their 
own interests. The former advance could be made by 
individualistic methods : the latter seems to demand a 
certain degree of Socialism. ^ But here again we can 
do no more than indicate, quite generally and roughly, 
the nature of the problem involved. 

1 From the point of view of Ethics, we may say that both Indi- 
viduaHsm and SociaHsm supply us with economic commandments. 
The commandment of Individuahsm is— Thou shalt not pauperize ; 
or Every one must be allowed to work out his own salvation. The 
commandment of Socialism is — Thou shalt not exploit, or No one 
must be used as a mere means to an}' one else's salvation. 

2 This subject is treated with considerable fulness by Prof. Paulsen 
in his System dcr Ethik, vol. ii. Book IV. iii,, 3. On the general sub- 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IT. 



ject of Socialism as a question of practical politics, the student may 
consult Sidgwick's Principles of Political Economy, Book III., chaps, 
ii — vii., and Elements of Politics, chap. x. See also his Methods of 
Eihics, Book III., chap. v. Reference may also be made to M-on- 
id,g\iQ's Limits of Individual Liberty, Ritchit's Principles of State Inter- 
ference, Schaffle's Quintessence of Socialism, Conner's Socialist State, 
Kirkup's Inquiry into Socialism, Rae's Contemporary Socialism, 
Graham's Socialism New and Old, Rickabys Moral Philosophy, Gil- 
man's Socialism and the American Spirit, McKechnie's The State and 
the Individual, Donisthorpe's Individualism, &c. A singularly 
searching examination of the ideas underlying Individualism and 
Socialism has lately appeared in Mr. Bosanquet's Civilization of 
Christendom, The recent discussions in the International Journal 
oj: Ethics, Vols. VI. and VII. are also valuable. 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



Note on Justice. 

Anything like a complete discussion of the difficult conception of 
Justice would evidently be quite beyond the scope of such a text- 
book as this. But a few remarks seem to be called for. 

Much confusion has arisen in the treatment of this subject from a 
failure to observe an ambiguity in the term which was well known 
even to Plato and Aristotle, but w^hich some modern writers seem to 
have forgotten. The term "Justice" is used in two distinct senses. 
We speak of a "just man," and we speak of a " just law^" or a "just 
government." Just, in the former sense, means almost the same as 
morally good : it means morally good in respect to the fulfilment of 
social obligations. Justice, then, in this sense is equivalent to all 
virtue in its social aspect.i On the other hand, when w^e speak of a 
just law or a just government, we mean one that is fair or impartial 2 
in dealing with those to whom it applies or over whom it rules 3 This 
ambiguity in the use of the term is partly concealed by the fact that 
we sometimes speak of a man as being just in the same sense as that 
in which the term is applied to a law or government — viz. in those 
cases in which a man occupies a position of authority (as a judge, a 
king, or even a parent), so as to be a representative of law or govern- 
ment. Hence many writers have failed to perceive that there are 
two senses in which the term is used. The confusion between these 
two senses vitiates, for example, nearly all that is said about Justice 
in the fifth chapter of Mill's Utilitarianism. The influence of the same 
ambiguity seems, moreover, to be not without effect even on some 



1 See Aristotle's Ethics, Book V., chap. i. Sometimes, how^ever, 
when we speak of a " just man " w^e mean merely one who fulfils 
those obligations that are enforced by positive law. Cf. below, 
chap, iii., § 12. But I do not think that this use of the term is 
common, or to be commended. 

2 Ibid,, chap. ii. 

8 Justice is derived from the Latin jus, law. This again is cognate 
with jussum, meaning what is ordered. A just man means one who 
obeys orders, /. e. the moral orders or laws. A just law or govern- 
ment on the other hand, means one that possesses the qualities that 
belong to, or ought to belong to, a law {jiis)^viz. in particular, the 
quality of fairness or impartiality. 



312 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. II. 



more recent writers. Dr. Sidgwick carefully distinguishes i between 
the two senses of Justice now referred to, and states that he intends 
to confine himself to the second. Nevertheless, one of " his illustra- 
tions appears to refer to Justice rather in the first sense. He remarks 2 
that we cannot say, " in treating of the private conduct of individuals, 
that ^z// arbitrary inequality is recognized as unjust : it would not be 
commonly thought unjust in a rich bachelor with no near relatives 
to leave the bulk of his property in providing pensions exclusively 
for indigent red-haired men, however unreasonable and capricious 
the choice might appear." When it is said that this is not unjust, 
does not this mean simply that it is not contrary to any recognized 
moral obligation ? And is not the term, therefore, used in its first 
sense ? If a law, or a government, or even a parent in dealing 
with his children, were to exhibit any similar caprice to that here 
supposed by Dr. Sidgwick, would not this be at once regarded as 
unjust ? In such a case, w^e should be using the term in its second 
sense. The person supposed by Dr. Sidgwick is not said to be un- 
just, apparently simply for the reason that he is not in a position in 
which Justice, in this sense, can be predicated of him at all. A man 
cannot, in this sense, be either just or unjust, unless he represents 
some form of law or government. 

But there is a still further ambiguity in the use of the term. And 
this also w^as pointed out by Aristotle.^ In speaking of Justice in the 
sense of fairness, we may be referring either to the apportionment 
of goods or to the apportionment of evils. Now evil can be fairly 
apportioned only to those who have done evil — /. e. as punishment. 
Justice, then, may be either distributive or corrective. But some- 
times the term is used emphatically in the latter sense as if this were 
its exclusive use. To " do justice " is frequently understood as mean- 
ing simply to award punishment. Thus, there is an ambiguity be- 
tween the broader sense of the term, including distributive and cor- 
rective Justice, and the narrower sense in which it is confined to the 
latter. Mill seems to have been misled by this ambiguity also. 
Thus, when he says that "the tw^o essential ingredients in the senti- 
ment of Justice are, the desire to punish a person who has done 
harm, and the knowledge or belief that there is some definite in- 
dividual or individuals to whom harm has been done," he seems to 



1 Methods of Ethics, p. 264-5, "^ote 2. 

2 Ihid., p. 268-9, '^ot^' 

2 Op, city Book v., chap. ii. 



MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 



be referring exclusively to corrective Justice, without being aware 
that he is dealing only with a part of the subject. 

As far as I can judge, Aristotle's treatment of the whole subject of 
Justice is still the best that we have. Dr. Sidgwick's treatment, 
however, to which reference has just been made, has of course the 
advantage of being more fully adapted to modern conditions of 
knowledge and practice. 



314 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CIL III. 



CHAPTER IIL 

THE DUTIES. 

§ 1. Nature of Moral Laws. — The Jews, by whom 
the moral consciousness of the modern world has been 
perhaps mainly determined,' summed up their view of 
duty in the form of ten commandments. And we find 
in other nations also a certain more or less explicit 
recognition of definite rules to which a good man must 
adhere — rules which say expressly. Do this. Abstain 
from that.^ Now, in the moral ought,'' as we have 
so far considered it, there are no such explicit com- 

1 It is hard to say whether the Jews or the Greeks have had most 
influence on us in this respect. See Hatch's Hibbert Lectures ; and 
c/., for a vigorous but very paradoxical view of the same subject, 
Duhring's Ersatz der Religion. 

2 The Greeks had no definite code of moral rules. Their earliest 
moral wisdom was expressed rather in brief proverbial sayings, such 
as MrjSef ayav (" nothing to cxccss "). Among the Greeks, however, as 
among all early peoples, the laws of the State furnished a basis for 
moral obligation, just as a child's first ideas of duty are derived from 
the commands of its parents. The dawning of the consciousness that 
there is a deeper basis of moral obligation than State laws is illus- 
trated in the Antigone of Sophocles. It was largely because the early 
Greeks had no clear distinction between the moral law and the laws 
of the State that the criticisms of the Sophists (and to some extent of 
Socrates) were felt to be subversive of morality. See Zeller's Pre- 
Socratic Philosophy, vol. ii., p. 404, and Socrates and the Socratic Schools, 
pp. 219—221. It is noteworthy also that the absoluteness of the Jew- 
ish Law showed signs of breaking down, as soon as the Jews had 
lost their national independence. Cf. above, Book I., chap, V. 



THE DUTIES. 



mands contained. There is only the general command 
to realize the rational self. We must now consider 
what is the place of particular rules within this general 
commandment. 

What has been said in the last chapter may help 
us to do this. For we have seen there that there are 
certain definite, though at the same time somewhat 
elastic and modifiable, rights that come to be gradually 
recognized in human societies ; and these definite 
rights bring definite obligations along with them. Such 
obligations may be expressed in the form of command- 
ments. 

It is not merely, however, in connection wuth these 
recognized rights that such obligations arise. Obliga- 
tions arise in connection with all the institutions of 
social life, and in connection with all the relationships 
into which men are brought to one another. No doubt 
there is a certain right corresponding to all such obli- 
gations, just as there is an obligation corresponding 
to every right' But sometimes it is the right that is 
obvious, and the obligation seems to follow it, whereas 
in other cases it is the obligation that is more easily 
recognized. In the preceding chapter we have con- 
sidered some of the more prominent rights andinstitu- 

1 Rights are also for the most part connected with definite institu- 
tions, or forms of social organization. Hence duties also tend to 
cluster round them. Thus, Mr. Alexander says {Moral Order and 
Progress, p. 253) that " Duties are the conduct ... by which institu- 
tions are maintained " : "the duty of recording a vote . . . gives effect 
to the institution of parliamentary franchise." It seems an exagger- 
ation, however, to say that all duties are related to institutions in this 
way. The duty of regard for life, for instance, seems to be inde- 
pendent of any special institutions — unless we are to describe life 
itself as an institution," which would be somewhat paradoxical. 



3i6 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. III. 



tions that have grown up in social life. In this chapter 
we are to consider the more prominent obligations that 
have come to be recognized among men, as presenting 
themselves in the form of commandments, and to try- 
to bring out the precise ethical significance of these 
elements in the moral consciousness. In the one case, 
as in the other, it would probably be useless to attempt 
to give an exhaustive classification. 

§ 2. Respect for Life. — The first commandment is 
the commandment to respect life, corresponding directly 
to the right of life. This commandment is expressed 
in the form. Thou shalt not kill ; and its meaning is 
so obvious that it requires little comment. We must 
merely observe that the commandment which bids us 
have respect for life enjoins much more than the mere 
passive abstinence from the destruction of another's 
physical existence. It involves also the care of our 
own, and the avoidance of anything likely to injure 
either our own or another's physical well-being. How 
much this implies, we are only gradually learning. 
Mr. Herbert Spencer has done admirable service in 
emphasizing this side of moral law. ' 

§ 3. Respect for Freedom, — The second command- 
ment corresponds to the right of Freedom. It forbids 
any interference with the development of another man's 
life, except in so far as such interference may be re- 
quired to help on that development itself It may be 
expressed in the form, Treat every human being as a 
person, never as a mere thing. In this form, it may 

1 See especially his Data of Ethics, chap, xi., and The Principles 
of Ethics f Part III. Cf. also Clark Murray's Introduction to Ethics, 
Book II., Part II., chap, ii., and Adler's Moral Instruction lo Children 
Lecture XII. 



§4.J 



THE DUTIES. 



be regarded as forbidding slavery, despotism, exploita- 
tion, prostitution, and every other form ©f the use of 
another as a mere means to one's own ends. This 
commandment and the preceding one are closely con- 
nected together. They might, in fact, be regarded as 
one ; for the destruction of the life of another is simply 
an extreme form of interference with his free develop- 
ment. There is also a third commandment which is 
closely connected with these two, and which we may 
notice next. 

§ 4. Respect for Character. — This may be stated as 
the commandment to respect character. It is the posi- 
tive of which the two preceding are the negative. It 
not merely forbids us to injure our neighbour or to do 
anything that will interfere with his free development, 
but also positively bids us observe, as far as we can, 
what will further him. It was of this commandment 
that St. Paul was thinking when he said, ''All things 
are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient.'^ 
By the ordinary negative law he was permitted to do 
anything that did not positively injure another ; but he 
was conscious that, in addition to this, he ought to 
abstain from anything that would tend to prevent the 
furtherance of another in his development. To partake 
of certain meats would not interfere either with the 
life or with the freedom of any one ; but, having re- 
gard to the stage of development at which they stand, 
we may be aware that it would be injurious to them. 
Of course, we might regard this principle as simply an 
extension of the negative principle of respect for free- 
dom. But perhaps it is better to regard it as positive ; 
for when we thus have regard for the stage of develop- 
ment at which any one stands, we shall be led not 



3i8 



ETHICS. 



[BK. III., CH. III. 



merely to abstain from that which will injure him, but 
also to do that which will help him. The simplest way 
of summing up this commandment is perhaps to say, 
in Hegel's^ language, ''Be a person, and respect others 
as persons." 

§ 5. Respect for Property. — The next commandment 
is, Thou shalt not steal. This is simply a carrying out 
of the preceding. It forbids any appropriation of the 
instruments of another's well-being, whether they be 
material things that belong to him, or such goods as 
time, reputation, and the like. This commandment is, 
as I say, involved in the preceding. For the develop- 
ment of a man s personality involves the use of instru- 
ments ; and the right of an individual to appropriate 
these involves the obligation on the part of all others 
of leaving his possession of them inviolate. The com- 
mandment to respect property ought, however, to be 
regarded as involving something more than the mere 
condemnation of theft. It involves regard for our own 
property as well as that of others. It condemns, there- 
fore, any neglect or abuse of the instruments which an 
individual has appropriated. It may also be regarded 
as condemning all forms of idleness that imply living 
on the work of others, and so appropriating what be- 
longs to them. 

§ 6. Respect for Social Order. — To avoid unneces- 
sary details, we may next consider what is rather a 
group of commandments than a single rule — viz, those 
commandments that are connected with respect for 
social institutions and the various forms of social order. 
Such respect is pretty nearly equivalent to what the 



^Philosophic des Rechts, §36 



§ 7-] THE DUTIES. 319 

Greeks used to call ald6^, shame or reverence. ^ This 
feeling forbids us to interfere unnecessarily with any 
established institution. It forbids, for instance, any 
violation of the sanctities of the family ; it enjoins that 
we should ''honour the king" and all constituted au- 
thorities ; 2 and the like. The authority of this group of 
commandments rests on the importance of maintaining 
the social system to which we belong. The soldier 
feels himself in general bound to carry out the com- 
mands of his superior, even if he knows very well that 
''some one has blundered" ; and in the same way the 
citizen feels bound in general to give his support to 
the constituted authorities of his state, even if he sees 
clearly that their laws are not altogether wise. Occa- 
sionally also a politician may feel himself bound to act 
with his party, even if he does not approve of some 
detail in its policy. Evidently this group of command- 
ments might be split up into a number of separate 
rules. But it is so easy to do this, that it is scarcely 
w^orth while to attempt it here. 

§ 7. Respect for Truth. — The next commandment 
is. Thou shalt not lie. This rule has a double appli- 
cation. On the one hand, it may be taken to mean 
that we should conform our actions to our words — 

1 It has already been remarked (p. 287, note 2) that ai6c6s is almost 
equivalent to conscience. Since, however, the moral obligations of 
the early Greeks were connected entirely with social laws and in- 
stitutions, it w'as almost entirely with these that the feeling of ai6ws 
was associated. 

2 I need hardly say that this rule is not to be understood as exclud- 
ing the right of revolution. As we shall shortly see, none of these 
rules is to be regarded as absolutely binding. Just as a Nelson may 
look at the signals of his superior officer with his blind eye, so a far- 
seeing social reformer may defy the laws of his state. But it is only 
in exceptional circumstances that such conduct is justifiable, 



320 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III. 



that, for instance, we should fulfil our promises, and 
observe the contracts into which we have entered. 
On the other hand, it may be taken to mean that we 
should conform our words to our thoughts — /. e. that 
we should say what we mean. Evidently, these two 
interpretations are quite different. A man may make 
a promise which he does not mean to keep. In that 
case, he lies in the second sense. But it does not fol- 
low that he will necessarily lie in the first sense. For, 
having made the promise, he may keep it. Still, both 
senses are concerned with respect for the utterance of 
our thoughts — though the latter is concerned with care 
in the utterance of them, the former with care in con- 
forming our actions to that which has been uttered. 
Lying, however, ought not to be understood as re- 
ferring merely to language. We lie by our actions, 
if we do things in such a way as to imply that we 
intend to do something else, or that we have done 
something else, which in fact we neither have done 
nor intend to do. The commandment, then. Thou 
shalt not lie, may be taken to mean that we must 
always so speak and act as to express as clearly as 
possible what we believe to be true, or what we intend 
to perform ; and that, having expressed our mean- 
ing, we must as far as possible conform our actions 
to it. 

§ 8. Respect for Progress. —The last commandment 
of which it seems necessary to take notice, is the com- 
mandment — too often overlooked in moral codes — 
which bids us help on, as far as we can, the advance- 
ment of the world. It may be expressed in this form, 
Thou shalt labour, within thy particular province, 
with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all 



§9.] 



THE DUTIES. 



321 



thy strength and with all thy mind.^ It is not without 
reason that I express this commandment in the same 
form as that in which the love of God has been en- 
joined. It was wisely said, Lahorare est or are, Work 
is Worship. The love of God is perhaps most clearly 
shown by faith in human pro^^ress ; and faith in it 
is shown most clearly by devotion to it. ^ With 
this great positive commandment, we may conclude 
our list. 

§9. Casuistry. — I have made no great effort to re- 
duce these commandments to system. It might be a 
good exercise for the student to work them out more 
in detail, and show their relations to one another. 
But it seems clear that no system of commandments 
can ever be made quite satisfactory. There can be 
but one supreme law — the law which bids us realize 
the rational self or universe ; and if we make any sub- 
ordinate rules absolute, they are sure to come into 
conflict. Such a conflict of rules gives rise to casu- 
istry. Casuistry consists in the effort to interpret the 
precise meaning of the commandments, and to explain 
which is to give way when a conflict arises. 3 It is 
evident enough that conflicts must arise. If we 
are always to respect life, we must sometimes appro- 
priate property — e. g. the knife of a man about to 
commit murder. If we are always to do our utmost 

1 This is Carlyle's commandment—" Know what thou canst work 
at; and work at it, like a Hercules" {Fast and Present,Book III., 
chap. xi.). 

2 "All true work is religion" (Carlyle, ibid., chap. xii.). 

3 See Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 88, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics 
p. 69-70, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 186 — 190, and 
p, 215, and Bradley's Ethical Stndies, p. 142. 

Eth. 21 



322 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IIL 



for freedom, we shall sometimes come into conflict 
with order. So in other cases. We hav.e already 
quoted the emphatic utterance of Jacobi on this point ; ^ 
and though it may be somewhat exaggerated, yet it 
cannot be denied that there are occasions in which 
we feel bound to break one or more of the command- 
ments in obedience to a higher law. Now casuistry 
seeks to draw out rules for breaking the rules — to 
show the exact circumstances in which we are en- 
titled to violate particular commandments. This effort 
is chiefly associated historically with the teaching of 
the Jesuits.^ It was called ''casuistry'' because it 
dealt with ''cases of conscience." It fell into dis- 
repute, and was severely attacked by Pascal. And on 
the whole rightly. It is bad enough that we should 
require particular rules of conduct at all,^ but rules 
for the breaking of rules would be quite intolerable. 
They would become so complicated that it would be 
impossible to follow them out ; and any such attempt 
would almost inevitably lead in practice to a system by 
which men might justify, to their own satisfaction, any 
action whatever. ^ The way to escape from the limita- 
tions of the commandments, is not to make other 
commandments more minute and subtle, but rather to 
fall back upon the great fundamental law, of which 

1 See above, pp. 198-9. 

2 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 151 — 154. 

•3 The expression of the moral law in the form of particular rules 
belongs to an early stage in moral development. It naturally comes 
immediately after that stage in which morality is identified with the 
laws of the State. C/. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 68 — 73. 

4 Hence Adam Smith says {Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VI., 
sect. IV.) that "books of casuistry are generally as useless as they are 
commonly tiresome." 



THE DUTIES. 



the particular commandments are but fragmentary 
aspects. 

§ 10. The Supreme Law. — What is that fundamental 
law? It is, as we have already seen, the command- 
ment that bids us reaHze the rational self. This 
commandment is so broad, and is apt to seem so 
vague, that it is certainly well that it should be sup- 
plemented, for practical purposes, by more particular 
rules of conduct. But when these rules come into 
conflict, and when we feel ourselves in a difficulty with 
regard to the course that we ought to pursue — when, 
in short, a case of conscience " arises — we must fall 
back upon the supreme commandment, and ask our- 
selves : Is the course that we think of pursuing the 
one that is most conducive to the realization of the 
rule of reason in the world l* - No doubt this is a ques- 
tion which it will often be difficult to answer.^ But, 

1 Sometimes it may be easier to answer in the form of feeling. The 
commandments in which the Jewish Law was summed up—" Thou 
Shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, &c., and thy neighbour 
as thyself" — express the right attitude of feeling, that of love for the 
supreme reason and for all rational beings. In the form of feeling, 
however, there is the disadvantage that the definite duties to be per- 
formed are not suggested, whereas the command to pursue the ad- 
vancement of the rational life suggests at once the means that must 
be adopted for this end. At the same time, it is important to insist 
that the right attitude of mind necessarily brings with it the right 
form of feeling. To this point we have already referred (Book I., 
chap, iii , § 5, and Book II , chap, iii., § 13). We have seen that Kant 
refused to regard love as a duty, interpreting the Christian injunction 
as meaning merely that we should treat others as 7/ we loved them. 
But, as Adam Smith remarked {Theory of Moral Sentiments. Part 
III., sect. III., chap, iv.); this could scarcely be described as loving 
our neighbour as ourselves ; since " we love ourselves surely for our 
own sakes, and not merely because we are commanded to do so." 
On the same point, Janet has well quoted {Theory of Morals, p. 354) 
the emphatic utterance of St Paul, " Though I bestow all my goods 





324 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III. 



in general, a man who keeps his conscience un- 
clouded, and sets this question fairly before himself, 
will be able to keep himself practically clear from 
errors, without resorting to casuistical distinctions. ^ 

§ 11. Conventional Rules. — Besides the command- 
ments, or strict moral laws, we find in every com- 
munity a number of subordhiate rules of conduct, in- 
ferior in authority, but often superior in the obedience 
which they elicit. Such are, for instance, the rules of 
courtesy, those rules that belong to the ''Code of 
Honour," the etiquette of particular trades and particu- 
lar classes of society.^ There is often a certain absurd- 
ity in these rules ; and some of them are frequently 
laughed at under the name of ''Mrs. Grundy." Cer- 
tainly a superstitious devotion to them, a devotion 
which interferes with the fulfilment of more important 
duties or with the development of independence of 
character, is not to be commended. Yet sometimes 
such rules are not without reason. Schiller tells us, in 
a wise passage of his Walleiistei?i,^ that we ought not 
to despise the narrow conventional laws ; for they were 
often invented as a safeguard against various forms of 
wrong and injustice. Pectus sihi permissum is not less 
to be distrusted than intellectus sihi per missus ; and it is 
often well that the impulses of a man's own heart 
should be checked by certain generally understood con- 
to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have 
not charity, it profiteth me nothing." 

1 See, on this point, Green's Prolegomena to Ethics^ Book IV. 
chap. ii. 

2 Sometimes referred to as " minor morals." 
8 Die Piccolomini, Act I., scene iv. — 

" Lass uns die alten engen Ordnungen 
Gering nicht achten ! " 



12.] 



THE DUTIES. 



ventions. ^ The law of respect for social order, at any 
rate, will generally lead a man to follow the established 
custom, when no more important principle is thereby 
violated. Still, this is not a matter of supreme impor- 
tance. A scrupulous adhesion to petty rules is no 
doubt as foolish as a total neglect of them. Eccen- 
tricity has its place in the moral life ; and there are 
certainly many customs which are ^'more honoured in 
the breach than the observance." Perhaps the ten- 
dency at the present time — a result of our individual- 
istic modes of thought — is to attach too little impor- 
tance to general rules of life. The Chinese, however, 
under the influence of Confucius, seem to have gone 
to the other extreme. 

§ 12. Duties of Perfect and Imperfect Obligation. — 
The impossibility of drawing out any absolute code of 
duties has led some writers to draw a distinction be- 
tween that part of our obligations which can be defi- 
nitely codified and that part which must be left com- 
paratively vague. This distinction has taken various 
forms. Sometimes those obligations which are capable 
of precise definition are called duties ; while that part 
of good conduct which cannot be so definitely formu- 
lated is classed under the head of virtue — as if the vir- 
tuous man were one who did more than his duty, more 
than could reasonably be demanded of him.^ Again, 

1 Indeed, such rules are often more useful in small matters than 
in great ; just because the small matters interest us less. Cf. below, 
§ 13: note. 

2 There can be no doubt that this is a common use of the term 
*' Virtue " in ordinary language. Perhaps it is even the original sense 
of the word. It certainly seems to have been at first applied to those 
qualities that appeared most eminent and praiseworthy. See Alex- 
ander's Moral Order and Progress, p, 243 : " The distinctive mark of 



326 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III. 



Mill ^ classifies strict duties under the head of Justice ; 
and adds that ''there are other things, on the contrary, 
which we wish that people should do, which we like 
or admire them for doing, but yet admit that they are 
not bound to do ; it is not a case of moral obligation." 
But surely we have a moral obligation to act in the best 
way possible. Another distinction is that given by 
Kant^ between Duties of Perfect and Imperfect Obliga- 
tion. According to this classification, Duties of Perfect 
Obligation are those in which a definite demand is 
made upon us, without any qualification — as, Thou 
shalt not kill, Thou shalt not lie, Thou shalt not steal. 
These are, for the most part, negative. On the other 
hand, most of our positive obligations cannot be stated 
in this absolute way. The duty of beneficence, for 
instance, is relative to time, place, and circumstance. 

virtue seems to lie in what is beyond duty : yet every such act must 
depend on the pecuhar circumstances under which it is done, of 
which we leave the agent to be the judge, and we certainly think it 
his duty to do what is best." Cf. Muirhead's Elements oi Ethics, p. 
190, note. See also Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part 
I., sect. II., chap, iv., Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, 
ii., Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, p. 70, 

1 Utilitarianism, chap. v. Some other writers have limited the 
application of the term Justice to those actions which can be enforced 
by national law. Thus Adam Smith says {Theory of Moral Senti- 
ments. Part IL, sect. IL, chap, i.) : "The man who barely abstains 
from violating either the person, or the estate, or the reputation of 
his neighbours, has surely very little positive merit. He fulfils, how^- 
ever, all the rules of what is peculiarly called justice, and does every- 
thing which his equals can with propriety force him to do, or which 
they can punish him for not doing. We may often fulfil all the rules 
of justice by sitting still and doing nothing." Cf. the Note at the 
end of chap. x. 

2 Metaphysic of Morals, section II. (Abbott's translation, p. 39) 
Observe what is said in Mr. Abbott's note. Cf also Caird's Critical 
Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 382-3. 



12.] 



THE DUTIES. 



No man can be under an obligation to do good in all 
sorts of ways, but only in some particular ways, which 
he must in general discover for himself. Hence this 
may be called an Imperfect Obligation, because it can- 
not be definitely formulated. 

Now it is no doubt true that there is a distinction of 
this kind. There is, indeed, a threefold distinction be- 
tween duties of different kinds. There are, in the first 
place, those duties that can be definitely formulated, 
and embodied in the laws of a State, ^ with penalties 
attached to their violation. In the second place, there 
are those duties that cannot be put into the form of 
national laws, or that it would be very inconvenient to 
put into such a form, but which, nevertheless, every 
good citizen may be expected to observe. In the third 
place, there are duties which we may demand of some, 
but not of others; or which different individuals can 
only be expected to fulfil in varying degrees. ^ But the 
distinction between these different classes of duties is 
not a rigid one. The duties that can be made obliga- 
tory by law vary from time to time, according to the 
constitution of the State concerned, and the degree of 
the civilization of its people. The same applies to those 
duties that every good citizen may fairly be expected 
to observe. Consequently, while at any given time 
and place it might be possible to draw out a list of the 

1 This was the original meaning of Duties of Perfect Obligation. 
Kant altered the use of the phrase. Some points in connection with 
the relation between Ethics and Jurisprudence will be found well 
brought out in Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VI., 
sect. IV. 

2 The fulfilment of these in an eminent degree might be said to 
constitute Virtue, as distinguished from Duty, in the sense explained 
above. But this is on the w^hole an inconvenient usage. 



328 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. HI. 



Duties of Perfect Obligation, and to express them in a 
code of Commandments, yet the tables of stone on 
which these were engraved would require to be periodi- 
cally broken up.' And many of the most important 
duties for any particular individual would remain un- 
formulated. 

§ 13. My Station and its Duties. — The determination 
of a man's duties, therefore, must be left largely to his 
individual insight. Ethics can do little more than lay 
down commandments with regard to his general atti- 
tude in acting. In the details of his action, however, 
a man is not left entirely without guidance. Human 
beings do not drop from the clouds. Men are born 
with particular aptitudes and in a particular environ- 
ment ; and they generally find their sphere of activity 
marked out for them, within pretty narrow limits. 
They find themselves fixed in a particular station, help- 
ing to carry forward a general system of life ; and their 
chief duties are connected with the effective execution 
of their work. Hence the force of Carlyle's great 
principle, Do the Duty that lies nearest thee. ''^ The 

1 This of course is no sufficient reason for not formulating them as 
well as we can. As Hegel says {Philosophy of Right, § 2i6), *' The 
universal law cannot be forever the ten commandments. Yet it 
would be absurd to refuse to set up the law ' Thou shalt not kill ' on 
the ground that a statute-book cannot be made complete. Every 
statute-book can of course be better. It is patent to the most idle 
reflection that the most excellent, noble, and beautiful can be con- 
ceived of as still more excellent, noble, and beautiful. A large old 
tree branches more and more without becoming a new tree in the 
process ; it would be folly, however, not to plant a new tree for the 
reason that it was destined in time to have new branches." 

'^Sartor Reeartus, Book II., chap. ix. : "The situation that has not 
its Duty, its Ideal, was never yet occupied by man." See also the 
admirable chapter by Mr. Bradley on " My Station and its Duties " 



13.] 



THE DUTIES. 



3^9 



prime duty of a workman of any kind is to do his work 
well, to be a good workman. ' Of course he must first 
have ascertained that his work is a valuable one, and 
one that he is fitted to do well. Having thus found his 
place in life, he will not as a rule have much difficulty 
in ascertaining what are the commandments that apply 
within that sphere. Hence the important point on the 
whole is not to know what the rules of action are, but 
rather the type of character that is to be developed in 
us. A well-developed character, placed in a given sit- 
uation, v/ill soon discover rules for itself^ Thus, we 

{Ethical Studies, Essay V.). Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, Part II. : 
" The moral endeavour of man takes the form not of isolated fancies 
about right and wrong, not of attempts to frame a morality for him- 
self, not of efforts to bring into being some praiseworthy ideal never 
realized ; but the form of sustaining and furthering the moral world 
of which he is a member." Thus we agree, after all, with the view 
of Dr. Johnson, that a good action is one that " is driving on the 
system of life." But for this view we now have a rational justifi- 
cation. 

Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 47: "An artisan or an 
artist or a writer who does not *do his best' is not only an inferior 
workman but a bad man." Mr. Muirhead quotes Carlyle's saying 
about a bad joiner, that he " broke the whole decalogue with every 
stroke of his hammer." See also Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 112 : 
" The good artisan ' has his heart in his work.' His self-respect makes 
it necessary for him to respect his technical or artistic capacity ; and 
to do the best by it that he can without scrimping or lowering." 

2 It may be worth while to note here that rules of conduct are, in 
general, valuable for us in proportion as our interest in the concrete 
matter concerned is small. A man does not want rules for the per- 
formance of an}i:hing which he has deeply at heart. Thus, a serious 
student has little need of rules for study. His own interest is a suf- 
ficient guide. On the other hand, a man whose main work does not 
lie in study, but who is able to devote a few hours to it now and then, 
may find it advantageous to have definite rules for the perform- 
ance of the uncongenial task. So it is in life generally. Christian- 
ity abolished the external rules of Judaism, by enjoining upon us an 



330 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. Ill, 



are naturally led from the consideration of the com- 
mandments to the consideration of the virtues.' 

interest in life instead. Such an interest is the only safe final guide. 
But so long as such an interest cannot be pre-supposed, particular 
rules retain a certain relative value. Some very suggestive remarks 
on this point will be found in Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Senti- 
ments, Part III., sect. IV. He there gives some interesting examples 
of actions which are naturally done in obedience to rule, because our 
interest in them is slight ; and of others which are naturally done 
rather from an interest in the object to be attained. 

1 Prof. Dewey says {Outlines of Ethics, p. 231) : " It is a common 
remark that moral codes change from ' Do not * to ' Do,* and from this 
to * Be.* A Mosaic code may attempt to regulate the specific acts of 
life. Christianity says, ' Be ye perfect.' The effort to exhaust the 
various special right acts is futile. They are not the same for any 
two men, and they change constantly with the same man. The very 
words which denote virtues come less and less to mean specific acts, 
and more the spirit in which conduct occurs." Cf. Muirhead's ElC' 
ments of Ethics^ p. 71, note. 



THE DUTIES. 



Note on Rules of Conduct. 

I have no doubt that some readers will be a good deal disappointed 
by the results of this chapter. Many of those who take up the 
study of Ethics expect to find in it some cut-and-dried formulas for 
the guidance of their daily lives. They expect the ethical philoso- 
pher to explain to them, as I once heard it put, what they ought to 
get up and do to-morrow morning. And no doubt it is true enough 
in a sense that the ethical philosopher, if he is good for anything, 
will explain this. He will explain to them the spirit in which they 
ought to apply themselves to the particular situation before them 
to-morrow morning. But most people, and especially most English 
people, are not content with this. The cause of this discontent is no 
doubt partly that most of us have become accustomed in our 3'outh 
to a code of Ten Commandments, generally accompanied by cer- 
tain subordinate rules deduced from them. Partly, again, it is that 
most of the English schools of Ethics have connected themselves 
closely with Jurisprudence, 1 and have thus given encouragement to 
the notion that a set of moral laws might be devised similar to the 
laws of a nation. Now I admit of course that it is possible to draw 
out certain rules of conduct, founded on the general nature of human 
life and the conditions under which it has to be carried on ; and it 
is part of the task of the moral philosopher to explain the general 
nature of these rules, and to show their place in the conduct of life. 
This I have endeavoured to do. But to suppose that Ethics is called 
upon to do more than this appears to me to be a most fatal error. 
Happily life cannot 3'et be reduced to rule. A moral genius must 
always, like Mirabeau, "swallow his formulas" and start afresh. 
Pedantry will not carry one far in life,^ any more than in literature. 

At the same time, while emphasizing this point, I have certainly 
no wish to rush to the opposite extreme. There has been so strong 
a tendency in former times to lay down an absolute " ought " in 

1 The chaotic state of English law led men like Bentham to seek 
for a rational basis of Jurisprudence in ethical principles. This ap- 
plication of Ethics has reacted on the study of Ethics itself. On the 
Continent the prevalence of Roman Law has perhaps made the 
demand for a fresh ethical basis less urgent. 

2 There are some good remarks on this point in Adler's Moral 
Instruction of Children, pp. 19-23. 



332 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III. 



Ethics, with a rigid scheme of obligations hanging from it, that now, 
by a not unnatural reaction, we find a number of our ethical writers 
treading very gingerly, hesitating to say that there is any such thing 
as duty, apologizing for the use of the word " ought," and mildly 
conceding that Ethics is of no practical value. This extreme appears 
to me to be quite as pernicious as the other. It is the function of the 
ethical philosopher to discover and define the supreme end of life. 
This is what all the great ethical writers have done, from Plato and 
Aristotle to Spinoza, Kant, Hegel, and Green. As soon as this end is 
clearly seen, the duty of pursuing it becomes an absolute imperative, 
from which there is no escape. And with this end in view, the 
whole of our life falls into shape. Hence, as Aristotle puts it,i " from 
a practical point of view it much concerns us to know this good ; 
for then, like archers shooting at a definite mark, we shall be more 
likely to attain what we want." Undoubtedly, in this sense. Ethics 
is of the greatest practical value. Nor is its value in any way dimin- 
ished by the fact that the moral genius, or even the man of ordi- 
nary good sense, may act well without any knowledge of Ethics. 
The human end is involved in man's very existence. No one can 
exist at all without being in some degree conscious of it. The task 
of the moral philosopher is only that of bringing it to clear con- 
sciousness. Only that ! In the same way, the task of the poet is only 
that of making clear to us the beauty that is everywhere around us. 
The task of the metaphysician is o;z/ythat of bringing out the mean- 
ing and connection of the principles made use of in the sciences. 
This " only " is a little out of place. 

While we must insist, then, that it is not the task of Ethics to furnish 
us with copy-book headings for the guidance of life, we must equally 
insist that it is its task to furnish us with practical principles— to 
bring the nature of the highest good to clear consciousness, and to 
indicate the general nature of the means by which this good is 
to be attained. It thus tells us, not indeed the particular rules by 
which our lives are to be guided, but what is of infinitely greater 
practical importance — the spirit in which our lives are to be lived. 

I am well aware that all this will seem unsatisfactory to many 
minds. The military spirit is deeply rooted in human nature. Men 
are eager to catch the word of command, and are disappointed when 
they are only told, as by Jesus, to " love one another," or, as by 
Hegel, to " be persons," or, as in the vision of Dante, to " follow their 
star" And, indeed, as I have already said, Ethics does supply some- 



1 Ethics, I, ii, 2. 



THE DUTIES. 



333 



thing more than this. It does interpret for us the meaning and im- 
portance of some more special rules. But assuredly neither Ethics 
nor anything else will tell a man what in particular he is to do. 
There would be an end of the whole significance of life if any such 
information were to be had. All action that is of much consequence 
has reference to concrete situations, which could not possibly be 
exhausted by any abstract'methods of analysis. It is the special busi- 
ness of every human being to find out for himself what he is to do, 
and to do it. Ethics only instructs him where to look for it, and 
helps him to see why it is worth while to find it and to do it. Like 
all sciences, it leaves its principles in the end to be applied by the 
instructed good sense of mankind.^ 



1 It may perhaps appear that this point has been somewhat over- 
emphasized ; but I think there is a real danger of misconception 
here, and I have been anxious to guard against it. On' the general 
question involved, it may be well to refer, in addition to the authori- 
ties already cited, to Mill's System of Logic, Book VI., chap, xii., 
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book IV., chaps, iv. and v., Green's 
Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV., Hegel's Philosophy of Right, Intro- 
duction, Bosanquet's Civilization of Christendom, p. 160 sqq., and the 
article by Mr. Muirhead on " Abstract and Practical Ethics " in the 
American Journal of Sociology for November, 1896. 



334 



ETHICS. [BK. IIL, CH. IV. 



CHAPTER IV, 
the virtues. 

§ 1. Relation of the Virtues to the Commandments. 
When we have ascertained what are the most important 
commandments, we have at the same time discovered 
to a considerable extent what are the most important 
virtues.' The virtuous man will be on the whole the 
man who has a steadfast habit of obeying the com- 
mandments. There are, however, many virtuous hab- 
its which do not correspond to any commandments 
that can be definitely formulated.^ Moreover, as the 
virtues are concerned mainly with inner habits of mind, 
whereas the commandments deal w^ith overt acts,3 tho 

1 Virtue (from Latin vir, a man or hero) meant originally man- 
liness or valour. The Greek aperrj (from the same root as Ares, the 
god of war) and the German Tugend (connected with our EngHsh 
word "doughty") have a somewhat similar origin. The term is 
here employed to denote a good habit of character, as distinguished 
from a Duty, which denotes rather some particular kind of action 
that we ought to perform. Thus a man does his Duty ; but he pos- 
sesses a Virtue, or is virtuous. Another sense in which the term 
" Virtue " is used, has been already noticed above (chap, iii., § 12). 

2 Mr. Alexander {Moral Order and Progress, p. 253) definitely con- 
nects the virtues, as well as the duties, with social institutions. In 
both cases there seems to be some exaggeration in this. Cf. Muir- 
h.ed.ds Elements of Ethics, p. 188. 

3 The Jewish commandments, as interpreted in the Sermon on 
the Mount, and by modern Christian thought, are of course concerned 
with the heart as well as with outer acts. Also the summary of the 
commandments in terms of love refers entirely to an inner habit of 
mind. But when the commandments are thus summed up, they 



2.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



335 



lines of cleavage in dealing with the virtues are natu- 
rally somewhat different from those that we find in 
dealing with the commandments. Hence it seems 
desirable to devote a separate chapter to the subject of 
the virtues. 

§ 2. Virtues relative to States of Society. — The 
virtues which it is desirable for human beings to culti- 
vate vary considerably with different times and places. 
They are more variable even than the commandments ' ; 
because the latter confine themselves to those broad 
principles of conduct which are applicable to nearly 
ail the conceivable conditions of life. At the same 
time, even the virtues are less changeable than they 
are apt at first sight to appear. The Greek virtue of 
courage, confined almost entirely to valour in battle, 
has but little correspondence to anything that is su- 
premely important in modern life. Yet the temper of 
mind which it indicates is one for which there is as 
much demand now as ever.^ And so it is also with 
most of the other virtues. The precise conditions of 
their exercise change ; but the habit of mind remains 
intrinsically the same. Still, even the habit of mind 
does undergo some alteration. The kind of fortitude 
which is required for valour in battle is, even in its 
most inward aspect, somewhat different from that 

cease to be particular rules. Particular rules relate to particular 
modes of action. Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 70. For a 
discussion of the relation of Virtue to Duty, see Sidgwick's Methods 
of Ethics, Book III., chap. ii. The following chapters of the same 
book contain interesting analyses of most of the particular virtues. 
Cf Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, Part I , chap. v. 

1 In that broad sense in which alone, as we have seen, universally 
significant commandments can be laid down. 

2 See Greenes Prolegomena to Ethies, Book III., chap. v. 



33^ ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV» 

fortitude which sustains the modern man of science, 
politician, scholar, or philanthropist. Hence this side 
of ethical study is one which each generation of writers 
requires almost to reconsider for itself. However in- 
Gtructive the great work of Aristotle may still remain 
on this point (and there is perhaps nothing more in- 
structive in the whole range of ethical literature), it is 
yet not quite directly apphcable to the conditions of 
modern life. In order to understand what are the most 
important virtues for us to cultivate in modern times, 
it is necessary to consider them in relation to the 
structure and requirements of modern society. 

§ 3. The Ethos of a People. — It is for this reason 
that it is so important, from an ethical point of view, 
to study carefully what the Germans call the Sitien ^ 
(the moral habitudes of thought and action) of differ- 
ent times and peoples. We have no English word 
that quite expresses this idea ; but, instead of having 
recourse to the German, we may use a Greek term, and 
speak of the ethos of a people.* The ethos of a people 
is partly constituted by definite rules or precepts. The 
Ten Commandments formed a very important element 
in the ethos of the Jews ; and they have continued, 

1 The English word " Manners ** used to have a meaning closely 
approximating to this, but it has deteriorated. See International 
Journal of EthicSy Vol. VII., no. i. 

2 Cf. Bradley's Ethical Studies, chap, v., especially p. 156, where 
the following is quoted from Hegel : " The child, in his character of 
the form of the possibility of a moral individual, is something sub- 
jective or negative ; his growing to manhood is the ceasing to be of 
this form, and his education is the discipline or the compulsion 
thereof. The positive side and the essence is that he is suckled at 
tJie breast of the univeral Ethos" Similarly on p. 169: "The wisest 
men of antiquity have given judgment that wisdom and virtue con- 
sist in living agreeably to the Ethos of one's people." 



§3.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



337 



with certain modifications and enlargements, to form 
an important element in the ethos of modern European 
peoples. The precepts contained in the Sermon on 
the Mount have perhaps never been sufficiently appro- 
priated by the world in general to be made definitely 
into a part of the ethos of any people ; but they have 
undoubtedly exercised a most profound influence on 
the ethos of nearly all civilized nations. The ethos of 
a people, then, is partly expressed in definite com- 
mands and precepts. But partly also it consists in re- 
cognized habits of action and standards of judgment 
which have never been precisely formulated. Thus, 
in England there is a general idea of the kind of con- 
duct which is fitting in a gentleman " ; and though it 
might be difficult to reduce this standard to the form of 
definite rules, yet it has undoubtedly exercised a great 
influence in forming the ethos of our people. 

The ethos of a people, then, we may say, constitutes 
the atmosphere in which the best members of a race 
habitually live ; or, in language that we have previously 
employed, it constitutes the universe of their moral 
activities. It is the morality of our world ; and on the 
whole the man who conforms to the morality of that 
world is a good man, and the man who violates it is a 
bad man. Mr. Bradley has even said emphatically ^ 

1 Ethical Studies, p. i8o. So also on p. i8i he says : " We should 
consider whether the encouraging oneself in having opinions of 
one's own, in the sense of thinking differently from the world on 
moral subjects, be not, in any person other than a heaven-born 
prophet, sheer self-conceit." There is, however, some paradox in 
this. A man may be a moral reformer in a small way, without 
being exactly a " heaven-born prophet." The suffering or witness- 
ing of wrong in some particular form, for instance, often makes a 
man sensitive to an evil to which most men are callous. Also the 
Eth. 22 



338 



ETRICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 



that the man who seeks to have a higher morality than 
that of his world is on the threshold of irnmorality. 
But this is an exaggeration. For the ethos of a people 
is not a stationary thing.' It develops, like social life 
generally ; and its development is brought about mainly 
by the constant effort of the best members of a race 
to reach a higher standard of life than that which they 
find current around them. The xaXoyAyado^ of the 
Greeks might occasionally permit himself to do many 
things, and to abstain from doing many things, which 
would scarcely be thought becoming in a modern 
gentleman " ; while the teachings of Christianity 
hold up to us an ideal of life which has not yet been 
fully embodied in the current morality of the world. 
While, then, it is on the whole true that the ethos of 
our people furnishes us with our moral standard, it 
must yet be remembered that it is often desirable to 
elevate that standard itself.^ 

disciples of the " heaven-born prophets " will for a time hold opinions 
different from those of the world But what Mr. Bradley means is 
simply, Try to be as good as your world first : after that you may 
seek to make it better. His meaning is similar to that of Burke 
{Reflections on the Revolution in France) : " We are afraid to put men 
to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason ; because 
we suspect that the stock in each man is small, and that the indi- 
viduals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and 
capital of nations and of ages." 

1 Sometimes, indeed, it is a highly artificial thing, brought into 
being by the accidental circumstances of a particular time and place. 
Thus Adam Smith remarks {Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part V., 
sect. II.) that "in the reign of Charles II. a degree of licentiousness 
was deemed the characteristic of a liberal education. It was con- 
nected, according to the notions of those times, with generosity, 
sincerity, magnanimity, loyalty, and proved that the person who 
acted in this manner was a gentleman, and not a puritan." 

2 C/. below, chap, vii 



§4.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



339 



Now the virtues that are current among a people at 
a given time are the expression in particular forms of 
the ethos of that people ; and their significance can be 
appreciated only in relation to the general life of the 
times. 

§ 4. Virtues relative to the Social Funxtioxs. — Not 
only, however, are the virtues relative to different 
times and different social conditions ; they are also 
relative to the functions that different individuals have 
to fulfil in society. Here again it is true that the 
differences are not so great as one is apt to think. 
We are apt to say that a poor man cannot exercise the 
virtue of liberality ; and that a man who is rich and 
prosperous has little need for the virtue of patience. 
This is to a large extent true ; yet the habit of mind 
which with a rich man leads to liberality may equally 
well be present, and is equally admirable, in one who 
is poor. And the same applies to other qualities. 
Still, it remains on the whole true that the virtues 
which we respect and admire in a man are not quite 
the same as those of a woman ; that those of the rich 
are not quite the same as those of the poor ; those of 
an old man not quite the same as those of a young 
man ; those of a parent not quite the same as those of 
a child ; those of a man in health not quite the same 
as those of one who is sick ; those of a commercial 
man not quite the same as those of a man of science ; 
and so in other cases. In describing the virtues, there- 
fore, we must either go somewhat minutely into the 
consideration of different circumstances of life, and of 
the qualities that are most desirable under these vary- 
ing conditions ; or else we must confine ourselves to 
statements that are very general and vague. The 



340 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 



limits of space and the difficulties of the subject both 
lead us to adopt the latter alternative. 

§ 5. The Nature of Virtue. — The virtues, as was 
admirably pointed out by Aristotle, are habits of deli- 
berate choice. To be virtuous means to have a char- 
acter so developed that we habitually choose to act in 
the right way. Now as the right action nearly always 
stands between two possible bad actions — one erring 
by excess and the other by defect — Aristotle con- 
sidered ^ that virtue consists essentially in a habit of 
choosing the mean. He well added, however, that it 
is the choice of the relative mean — e, of the particular 
intermediate course which is appropriate to the par- 
ticular individual in question, and to the particular 
circumstances in which he is placed. That mean 
must be determined in each case by a consideration of 
its conduciveness to the general development of social 
life. To hit upon it rightly is often a problem for in- 
dividual tact and insight ; but a study of the greatest 
examples in human history is in many cases a valuable 
aid in deciding on the most fitting conduct in a given 
case. 

§ 6. The Cardinal Virtues. — From the earliest pe- 
riods of ethical speculation, attempts have been made 
to enumerate the various forms of virtues. The most 
celebrated of these lists are those given by Plato and 
Aristotle. The former seems to have been current 
among Greek moralists even before the time of Plato. 
It has at least the merit of simplicity, containing only 
four cardinal 2 virtues — Wisdom (or Prudence), Courage 

1 Ethics, Book IL, chaps, vi. — ix. Cf. Sidgwick's History of EthicSf 
p. 59. 

2 From cardo, a hinge. The Cardinal Virtues are supposed to be 



§6.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



(or Fortitude), Temperance (or Self-Restraint), and 
Justice (or Righteousness). This classification, how- 
ever, simple as it appears, was soon found to give rise 
to considerable difficulties. It began to be perceived, 
for instance, that in a certain sense the first of the 
virtues includes all the others ; for every virtuous 
activity consists in acting wisely in some particular 
relationship. Again, Justice (or Righteousness) seems 
to be made somewhat too comprehensive in its mean- 
ing when it is used to include (as, on this acceptation, 
it must) all the social virtues. Perceiving these and 
other defects in the catalogue of the virtues, Aristotle 
was led to a considerable expansion of the list. ^ But 
his expansion had so constant a reference to the virtues 
that were expected of an Athenian citizen that its direct 
interest for modern life is comparatively slight. And 
it would perhaps be somewhat futile to attempt to 
draw up any similar catalogue specially adapted for 

those on which the others hinge or depend Cf, the Cardinals in 
the Roman CathoHc Church. 

1 It might be held, however, that Plato and Aristotle were in 
reality engaged on distinct problems. Plato sought to give an ac- 
count of the Cardinal Virtues — i. c. the general elements involved 
in all virtuous activities ; whereas Aristotle sought to give a list of 
special virtues, exhibited not in all virtuous activities, but in parti- 
cular kinds of virtuous activity. But this view seems to me to be 
scarcely tenable. The distinction here referred to is clearly drawn 
by Prof. Dewey in his Outlines of Ethics, p. 230. I am doubtful, 
however," whether his interpretation of the term " cardinal virtue '* 
is sanctioned bv the best usage. He means those general charac- 
teristics of a virtuous attitude, such as purity of heart, disinterested- 
ness, conscientiousness, and the like, which belong to the very 
essence of virtue as such. The relation of such qualities of the 
"inner life" to the virtues proper is partly dealt with in the next 
chapter. For the origin of the phrase "cardinal virtue,' see Sidg- 
wick's History of Ethics^p. 133. Cf Rickaby's Moral Philosophy t p. 84, 



342 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. IV. 



modern times, with their compHcated problems and 
varied relationships. ^ Nevertheless, a few suggestions 
towards such a catalogue may be found useful. 

We may note, to begin with, the distinction which 
is commonly drawn between self-regarding virtues 
and those that are altruistic, or have reference to the 
good of others. This distinction is apt to be mislead- 
ing. The individual has no life of his own independ- 
ent of his social relations ; and any virtue which has 
reference to the good of the individual, must have 
reference also to social well-being. This fact, how- 
ever, need not prevent us from distinguishing between 
the life of an individual and the wider world to which 
it is related ; and some virtues may be said to bear 
specially on the former, while others bear more par- 
ticularly on the latter. It may be convenient to look 
at these two classes of virtues separately. 

(a) Taking the four Platonic virtues as a convenient 
starting-point, it is evident that courage and temper- 
ance are the two that bear specially ^ on the life of the 
individual. If we understand courage (or fortitude) in 
the wide sense of resistance to the fear of pain, and 
temperance in the equally wide sense of resistance 
to the allurements of pleasure, these two virtues will 
include all forms of opposition to temptation in the 
individual life. Temptation appears either in the form 
of some pain to be avoided or some pleasure to be 

1 An interesting list has been drawn up, in the form of a table, by 
Mr. Muirhead, in his Elements of Ethics, p. 201. Some suggestive 
remarks on the particular virtues required in modern life will be 
found in Adler's Moral Instruction of Children, Lectures XL— XV. 

2 Wisdom, as we shall see immediately, is also directly concerned 
in the guidance of the individual life. But it applies equally to our 
social relationships. 



§6.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



343 



secured ; and he who is proof against these will lead a 
steadfast life along the lines that he has chosen. It is 
evident, however, that a man may be courageous and 
temperate in the conduct of his life, and yet be living 
foolishly. A wise choice of the line to be pursued is a 
necessary preliminary. If we understand the Platonic 
virtue of wisdom (or prudence) in this sense, we shall 
have in a manner a complete list of the virtues required 
for the conduct of the individual life. But it is evident 
that each of these virtues must be understood in such 
a sense as to comprehend under it a great variety of 
qualities not always found together in the same indi- 
vidual. Thus wisdom would require to be understood 
as including care, foresight, prudence, and also a cer- 
tain decisiveness of choice. Courao^e, ao^ain, would 
include both valour and fortitude, i. e. both the active 
courage which pursues its course in spite of the pro- 
bability of pain, and the passive courage which bears 
inevitable suffering without flinching. ^ But these are 
not the same virtues, and are indeed perhaps not 
often found together in any high degree. Again, 
courage would have to be understood as including 
perseverance : and this seems a somewhat unnatural 
extension of its meaning ; just as it is somewhat un- 

1 Mrs. Bryant {Educational Ends, pp. 7i-2j regards fortitude as a 
higher virtue than the more active courage which goes to meet 
danger ; because the former bears actual pain, the latter only the 
fear o{ pain. This is so far true. Courage is a blinder virtue than 
fortitude. The courageous man sets pain aside and forgets it 
whereas the man who shows fortitude is one who endures an ac- 
tually present pain which cannot be set aside. But on the other 
hand courage is a more active and voluntary virtue than fortitude. 
It not merely endures pain, but goes to meet it in the fulfilment of 
a purpose. In this respect courage seems to be the higher virtue of 
the two* 



344 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 

natural to include decision under wisdom. Perhaps 
the qualities of decision, diligence, and perseverance 
would come most naturally under a separate heading 
by themselves. These qualities are concerned not so 
much with the resistance to the solicitations of plea- 
sure and pain, as with the resistance to the natural 
inertia of human nature. The Christian virtues of 
faith and hope are closely connected with valour and 
fortitude, in so far as they supply the latter virtues 
with an inner ground. A confident and cheerful view 
of life seems to be presupposed in the highest forms of 
courage.^ With reference to temperance, again, this 
virtue would require to be understood as including 
the resistance to all kinds of solicitation from pleasures, 
whether sensual or intellectual, in so far as these tend 
to interfere with the conduct of life along the lines that 
have been chosen. Broadly speaking, then, we should 
be led in this way to recognize four distinct classes of 
virtues as bearing directly on the conduct of the indi- 
vidual life — wisdom in the choice of its general course, 
decisiveness in pursuing it, courage and temperance in 
resisting the solicitations of pain and pleasure.^ 

1 Browning's portraiture of Hercules in Balaiistion's Adventure 
well illustrates the qualities involved in the highest forms of active 
courage. 

2 Mr. Muirhead remarks {Elements of Ethics, p. 198-9) that the vir- 
tues of courage and temperance involve one another. "In order to 
be temperate a man must be courageous : in order to be able to 
resist the allurements of pleasure he must be willing to endure the 
pain that resistance involves. Similarly, in order to be courageous, 
he must be temperate." But this is perhaps a needless subtlety. 
The man who temperately abstains from a bottle of wine must no 
doubt be courageous enough to face the difficulties and dangers in- 
volved in going without it. But does not this mean simply that 
temperance is a kind of negative courage ? And does not the dis- 
tinction between positive and negative still remain ? 



§6.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



345 



(i) The virtues that relate to the individual's deal- 
ings with his fellow-men are perhaps best summed up 
under the head of justice. At the same time, this 
term, as commonly understood, is much too narrow 
to include all the virtues that arise in such relation- 
ships. It must be understood, for instance, to include 
not merely the fulfilment of contracts, and the perform- 
ance of every duty required by the laws, express or 
understood, of the community to which one belongs, 
but also perfect honesty and fidelity in all one's rela- 
tionships with others. Mr. Ruskin has taught us to 
look for honesty even in modes of artistic expression ; 
and this kind of honesty, as well as others,^ must be 
included in our idea of justice, if that idea is to be 
made to comprehend all the virtues connected with 
our social obligations. Further, the Christian ideal of 
life has taught us to expect something beyond the mere 
satisfaction of obligations in our dealings with our 
fellow-men ; and indeed more than this was expected 
even by the moral consciousness of the Greeks. We 
commonly say that generosity is expected as well as 
justice ; and in Christian communities love also is re- 
quired. In a sense, however, we may say that all this 
ought to be included in our idea of justice.^ P'or it is 
part of what is due from one individual to another that 

1 Other instances of honesty, going beyond mere truthfulness, 
might easily be given. Thus the student who " crams " for an ex- 
amination may be said to be dishonest, because his knowledge is 
not genuine. Again, what Mr. Bosanquet calls {History of /Esthetic, 
p. xiii) "the scholar's golden rule — never to quote from a book that 
he has not read from cover to cover," is a good instance of the ex- 
tension of the idea of honesty. 

2 Thus, generosity, as I\Ir. Muirhead says, "is only justice ade- 
quately conceived" {Elements of Ethics, p. 200). 



346 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 



the latter should be treated not as a mere thhig to which 
certain specifiable obligations are owed, but as a person, 
an absolute end, with infinite claims. It is true that as 
a general rule such ideal relationships are only partly 
attainable ; but the thoroughly just man will endeavour 
to realize them as far as possible, and will be glad 
when the external relationships of mere contract can 
be transmuted into the relationships of friendship or 
Christian love.' Hence also such ideas as those of 
courtesy, and even of a certain cheerfulness and good 
humour in social intercourse ; such efforts as that cf 
being, as far as possible, all things to all men, of avoid- 
ing all appearance of evil, of abstaining from that 
which is lawful when it is not expedient, and in general 
all the chivalries of the Christian gentleman, are not 
foreign to the conception of justice. They are part of 
what we owe to one another as persons and as abso- 
lute ends. 

We see, then, that, by giving a broad interpretation 
to each of the terms used, we may accept the old 
Greek classification of the virtues with but slight modi- 
fications. The only positive addition that we have to 
make is the recognition of a virtue of decisiveness and 
perseverance. Perhaps it was natural that the Greeks 
should omit this, partly because their plan of life was 
more mapped out for them beforehand than it is with 
us, and partly because with their simpler method of 
life steady persistence in any particular line was less 
essential. Perhaps also the light inconstancy of the 

1 Here we are in agreement with Carlyle. Cf. above, cliap. ii., § 7. 
We doubt only whether the aboHtion of contract would of itself 
produce this desirable result. Justice must on the whole precede 
generosity. 



§ 6.] THE VIRTUES. 34/ 

Athenian character, its perennial youthfuhiess, made 
the omission of this stern virtue easy. A Roman 
would scarcely have forgotten the idea of disciplined 
application ; ^ an Englishman would not naturally omit 
decision of character : a German would remember 
Daurharkeit.^ Besides this, however, it must not be 
forgotten that we have been extending the meaning 
of the four Greek virtues to senses which the Greeks 
themselves would not have acknowledged. 3 But such 
an expansion of the conception of duty is inevitable as 
the world advances. 

Having made this classification, however, we may 
at once add that any attempt to draw out such a 
list, like an attempt to make a list of the command- 
ments, is of very slight importance. There is essen- 
tially but one virtue (what we may, if we like, call 
practical wisdom 4), just as there is essentially but one 
commandment. The particular virtues, like the par- 
ticular commandments, are only special forms in which 

1 The decisiveness of such a man as Caesar, for instance (c/. below, 
chap, v., § II. note), seems to be a virtue which cannot be identified 
either with wisdom, courage, or temperance. 

2 Persistence. Cf. also the pecuharly German virtue of Treiie 
{fidelity). These virtues w^ere all somewhat foreign to the Athenian 
character. 

3 This was habitually done by the early Christian moralists who 
accepted the Platonic classification. See Sidgwick's History of EtJiics, 
p. 133. 

4 It might be urged, of course, that there is a great difference be- 
tween what Bacon calls "wisdom for a man's self " and that wisdom 
which manifests itself in a just regard for others. But wisdom for 
a man's self, in the sense of mere selfish prudence, is not virtue at 
all. Wise care of a man's own interests, in the sense in w^hich that 
is a virtue, is precisely the same quality as that which leads, when 
extended, to a wise care of the interests of others. The only dif- 
ference lies in the extension of our universe. 



348 



ETHICS. [BK. hi., CH. IV. 



the right attitude of mind manifests itself. The effort 
to make a list of these forms is almost frivolous. I 
have thought it worth while to say so much as I have 
done on the subject, only in order to make it clear 
what such an effort would mean. Perhaps the best 
way of regarding the virtues is to treat them as those 
forms of character that are implied in the fulfilment of 
the duties or commandments ; while those duties or 
commandments, again, depend on the elements in- 
volved in the social unity. 

§ 7. Education of Character. — Having ascertained 
what are the types of character to which we wish to 
approximate, Vv^e have next to inquire into the means 
by which these types are to be developed. Here, how- 
ever, it would be necessary to trespass on the province 
of Psychology, and especially on that part of Psycho- 
logy which is concerned with the theory of Education. 
This subject is still in a somewhat undeveloped state ; ^ 
and there are only one or two remarks that seem to 
have any practical value for our present purpose. It is 
scarcely necessary to refer to w^hat every moralist has 
noticed, the influence of example in the development 
of character. ^'As iron sharpeneth steel, so a man 
sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." But ail the 
forms of social relationship have a similar value. Per- 
haps we may say generally that the important thing, 

1 Reference, may, however, be made to Herbart's Science of Educa- 
tion. Some good points will be found also in Guyau's Education 
and Heredity, Fouillee's UEnseignement au Point de Vue National, 
Mrs. Bryant's Educational Ends, Rosenkranz's Philosophy of Educa- 
tion, and Dr. Adler's Moral Instruction of Children. Herbart's chief 
point is that the great work of education is to extend the " circle of 
thought." By a " circle of thought " he means very nearly what has 
been described in this handbook as a " universe." 



7.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



349 



from this point of view, is the influence that comes 
from connecting oneself with some organization that 
has a certain completeness in itself. Schiller said that 
a man must either be a whole in himself or else join him- 
self on to a whole. To this Mr. Bradley has added,' 
*^You cannot be a whole, unless you join a whole." 
Complete development of character can be attained only 
by devoting ourselves to some large end, in co-operation 
with others. Such an attachment comes to different 
men in different ways. Some find it in the pursuit of 
science, others in particular practical interests, others in 
the political life of the State, others in poetry or religion. 
It matters little what the form may be ; but unless a 
man has, in siome form, a broad human interest which 
lifts him out of himself, his life remains a fragment, 
and the virtues have no soil to grow in. The first 
requisite, then, for the development of the virtues, is 
to unite ourselves with others in the pursuit of some 
end or ideal. In the second place, we may observe 
that a certain amount of ascetic discipline is sometimes 
found valuable. As Aristotle put it,^ when a man's 
character has been twisted in one direction, it may be 
straightened by bending it in the other. Also, even 
apart from this, a certain check to the gratification of 
our natural propensities helps to waken up the will : ^ 
it prevents us from living on by rote, and thus serves 

1 Ethical Studies, p. 72. Mr. Bradley attributes the saying to Goethe. 
It is one of the Xenien, and was probably of joint authorship. 

2 Ethics, II. ix. 5. 

3 Cy. James's Principles of Psychology, vol. i., p. 126. Prof. James 
lays down the maxim : " Keep the faculty of effort alive in you by a 
little gratuitous exercise every day." He adds, " Be systematically 
ascetic or heroic in little unnecessary points ; do every day or two 
something for no other reason than that you would rather not do it" 



3SO 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 



as a stimulus to the development of character ; so that, 
like Rabbi Ben Ezra, we may 

" welcome each rebuff 
That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go." 

It is best, however, when such a rebuff comes to us in 
the ordinary course of nature. When it is consciously 
administered, it is apt to involve too much attention 
to our own inner development, which almost always 
leads to the production of a morbid habit of mind.' 
On the whole, it is generally better to escape fromi our 
defects, not by thinking about them and trying to 
elude them, but by fixing our attention on the opposite 
excellences. Dr. Chalmers used to speak of ''the ex- 
pulsive power of a new affection " ; ^ and it certainly 
seems a more effectual method as a rule to expel our 
evil propensities by developing good ones rather than 
by seeking directly to crush the evil ones. At the same 

I venture to doubt the wisdom of this. A man who is living with 
serious ends in view will, I think, always find sufficient occasions 
for ascetic discipline — 

" Room to deny himself, a road 
To bring him daily nearer God" — 

without artificially seeking them out (except perhaps in the way in- 
dicated by Aristotle). See the w-hole passage from James quoted in 
Muirhead's Elements of Ethics^ p. 129, note. Cf. also Miss Gilliland's 
Essay on "Pleasure and Pain in Education" in the International 
Journal of Ethics, vol. ii.. No. 3 (April, 1892), pp. 303-4. 

1 Cf. below, p. chap, v., § 11. 

2 So also Mrs. Humphry Ward says in Robert Elsmere : " This, 
indeed, is the only way in which opinion is ever really altered— by 
the substitution of one mental picture for another " ; and again : 
" An idea cannot be killed from without — it can only be supplanted, 
transformed, by another idea, and that, one of equal virtue and 
magic" These quotations are due to Mr. Weltga. 



8.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



time, it must be allowed that it is seldom possible to 
develop the moral life, like a flower, by a simple pro- 
cess of steady growth. Usually a certain amount of 
attention to the inner life is necessary ; and often a 
man has to pass through crises, such as used to be 
called, in religious language, conversion or new birth, 
in which the attention is turned inwards, and the man 
is occupied, as it were, in feeling his own pulse and 
fingering the motives of his conduct. This is an 
attitude from which we ought to escape as rapidly 
as possible ; but it is so characteristic a feature in the 
development of the moral life that it seems worth while 
to devote a separate chapter to the consideration of it 
— the more so, as it will lead us to a further study of 
what may be called the inner side of virtue.^ 

§ 8. The Moral Syllogism. — Before we conclude this 
chapter, it may be convenient to take note of a highly 
significant conception of Aristotle, which seems here 
in place. In the present and the two preceding 
chapters we have briefly indicated the various forms 

1 With reference to moral education, it may be noted here that a 
certain confusion is frequently fallen into between the culture of the 
moral nature and the acquisition of knowledge about morals. The 
former is all-important : the latter frequently leads to nothing more 
than that form of spiritual pride which is vulgarly known as prig- 
gishness." In the former sense, all real education is moral education. 
It is in this sense that Herbart says (Science of Education, p. 571, 
" The one and the whole work of education may be summed up in 
the concept— Morality. ' In the latter sense, on the other hand, a moral 
education would generally be a bad education, leading to nothing 
but self-conscious introspection. Cf. the important distinction be- 
tween " moral ideas " and " ideas about morality " drawn by Mr. 
Bosanquet in his article on " The Communication of Moral Ideas " in 
the International Journal of Ethics vol. I., Xo. I (Oct 1890), p. 86. 
See also Miss Gilliland, loc, cit, pp. 294-5. 



352 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV. 



in which the moral atmosphere (if we may so call it) 
affects the individual consciousness. The rnoral ideal 
involved in social life presents itself to him in the three 
forms of institutions to be maintained, duties to be 
fulfilled, and a type of life to be realized. At different 
stages of social development, and in different races of 
mankind, it tends to present itself more distinctly in 
one or other of these forms. Thus the Jews thought 
chiefly of Commandments, the Greeks chiefly of 
Virtues, and perhaps the Romans attached most im- 
portance to the maintenance of social institutions. 
But, in whatever form the moral life is conceived, the 
good citizen may be said to derive from these general 
conceptions of its nature the principles by which his 
life is guided. It is then his business to apply these 
principles in detail. This process was described by 
Aristotle as the formation of a practical syllogism. 
The major premiss consists of the general statement, 
that a particular social institution is to be maintained, 
that a particular commandment is to be obeyed, that 
a particular type of life is to be realized. The minor 
premiss consists in the apprehension that an action 
of a particular kind would be one that fulfilled these 
conditions. Then the conclusion would consist in the 
carrying out of the action in question. 

The power of thus apprehending the general prin- 
ciple to be followed, and of bringing the particular 
action under it, was called by Aristotle practical 
wisdom ((ppovTidi^^ ; and the man who possessed this 
quality was called a <pp6vitjA)<^ (a wise or prudent man). 
The excellence of the good citizen is of this nature ; 
and, having reached this point, it may now be con- 
venient to give Aristotle's complete definition of Virtue 



§8.] 



THE VIRTUES. 



353 



as it appears in the good citizen. Most of the points 
in the definition have already come up in the course of 
our exposition ; and it may be well now to have it 
before us in its entirety. ' ' Virtue, " says Aristotle, ' " is 
the habit of choosing the relative mean, as it is deter- 
mined by reason, and as the man of practical wisdom 
would determine it." This is apt to strike us at first 
as defining in a circle ; but if we remember w^hat is 
meant by the man of practical wisdom — viz. the man 
who has fully entered into the spirit of his moral 
environment ; and if we remember further that the 
spirit of his moral environment is the product of the 
human ideal — e. of reason — as it has so far expressed 
itself; we may be able to see that it is not really 
defining in a circle, but the expression of a profound 
truth. It furnishes us, however, only with an account 
of the virtue of the good citizen ; and though this is an 
important element in the life of the good man, it is not 
quite the whole of it. Accordingly, Aristotle proceeds 
from the consideration of the virtue of the (S{>6^^iiw<; to 
the consideration of that of the <7oe?o? (the man of 
speculative wisdom), which he declares to be higher. 
It is the sense in which this is true that we have now 
to consider. 

1 Xicomachean Ethics, II., Vi., 15. 'Eo-rtv 6.pa r) aperr) e|ts wpoaLpeTLKT], iv 



Eth. 



23 



354 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 

§1. The Higher Individualism. — While it is true that 
the life of the individual is relative throughout to the 
social unity to which he belongs, it is none the less 
true that it is in the personality of individuals that the 
social unity is realized. Consequently, though it is an 
error to think of an individual as having a life of his own 
independent of society, it is not an error to think of the 
individual life (realized within a social unity) as an 
absolute and supreme end in itself. Hence the efforts 
of such a man as Goethe after the highest culture of his 
individual nature are not to be classed (as shallow 
critics have sometimes classed them) with the strivings 
of egoism. The development of such a personality is 
at once a good in itself and a benefit to the whole of 
humanity. Nor is this less true, though the benefit is 
smaller, in the case of less comprehensive and signifi- 
cant personalities. What Mr. Ruskin calls the manu- 
facture of souls " ' is the greatest of all industries. This 
is a kind of work, however, in which men are apt to be 
unsuccessful in proportion as they consciously set 
themselves to it. Crescit occulto velut arbor cevo, is in 
some measure true of most great characters. Even 
Goethe seems to have been somewhat injured by his 

A C/. Walt Whitman's question, " Do they turn out men down your 
way ? " quoted by Dr. Adler in his Moral Instruction of Children, 
p. 270. 



2.] 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



355 



too deliberate self-culture. ''The unconscious," says 
Carlyle, ''is alone complete" ; the reason being that a 
perfect character is one that is objective, that loses itself 
in the world with which it deals, one that knows much 
and loves much, not one that is much occupied in the 
contemplation of itself.^ Still, this objective point of 
view is capable of being cultivated, and the cultivation 
of it involves a certain amount of self-study. Some 
points in connection with this may now be noted. 

§ 2. Conversion. — The religious experience known as 
conversion seems to be a normal fact in our moral 
development. Recurring to the mode of expression 
which we have so frequently made use of, we may 
say that this phenomenon occurs when a man is made 
aware of a higher universe than that within which he 
is living, and at the same time becomes conscious that 
that higher universe is one within which he ought to 
live. Such an experience occurs in its intensest form 
only when the higher universe that is presented to us 
is recognized as the highest of all — i. e, it occurs mainly 
in the religious life. But even apart from this, there is 
frequently a crisis in the moral life, in which we pass 
from some lower universe to a higher. The moment, 
for instance, at which a man decides to devote himself 
to poetry, or art, or science, or philosophy, or the time 

1 There is, in fact, what we may call a Paradox of Duty, analogous 
to the Paradox of Pleasure referred to above (Book I., chap, ii., § 7). 
Just as, in order to get pleasure, a man must interest himself rather in 
particular objects than in his own personal feelings ; so, in order to 
act rightly, a man must interest himself in some object that is to be 
accomplished rather than in his own attitude in accomplishing it 
Even the wealth of our inner life depends rather on the width of 
our objective interests, than on the intensity of our self-contempla- 
tioa 



356 



ETHICS. [BK. hi., CH. V. 



at which he hears of the death of a friend, or loses or 
gains a fortune, or goes to college, or falls in love, will 
often be such a period. Life takes on a new aspect; 
and the mind turns in criticism upon the life that is 
past. In the case of the religious life, there is often a 
violent reaction against the past, a condemnation of 
its acts and even of its ideals, repentance and remorse. 
In less extreme cases there is only a certain shame for 
the low level of our former existence, accompanied 
frequently by contempt for those who remain at it, 
together with a fixed determination to follow higher 
things in the future. At such times a man is intensely 
conscious of himself. He perhaps keeps a diary to 
record his inner feelings. He withdraws probably in 
some degree from general intercourse with the world, 
and becomes somewhat cynical in his estimate of it.' 
He thinks he has discovered a new world which no one 
has ever explored before him. It is at such times 
especially that the inner life becomes prominent. 

§3. Conscientiousness. — Apart, however, from any 
such special periods as this, one who is careful about 
his moral conduct frequently finds himself called upon 
to reflect upon his inner life, in the way of inquiry 
whether his conduct conforms to his highest ideals. 
Carlyle has commended^ times of action in contrast 
with times of reflection ; but in the practical m.oral life 
it is impossible to keep the two long asunder. After 
action we must reflect upon our activities and criticise 
them, with a view to improving upon them in the 
future. Now in so far as we merely consider our 
overt acts, this involves no entrance into the inner 

1 See Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, for instance. 

2 Especially in his Essay on " Characteristics." 



30 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



357 



life. But a man who is careful about his conduct will 
generally reflect not merely upon his actual conduct, 
but upon the motives by which he was led to it. ' The 
habit of reflecting upon them has been called by Green 
conscientiousness.^ It is doubtful whether this is a 
quite correct use of that term. 3 Conscientiousness 
seems properly to mean simply extreme care with 
regard to our external conduct. But, for lack of a 
better word, we may employ the term here in Green's 
sense. *^Aman may ask himself,'' Green says, Was 
I, in doing so and so, acting as a good man should, 
with a pure heart, with a will set on the objects on 
which it should be set ? — or again, Shall I, in doing so 
and so, be acting as a good man should, goodness 
being understood in the same sense ? " This question 
is somewhat different from the question whether one's 
action has in itself been right. It is rather the question 
whether I, in doing an action in itself right, 4 was occu- 
pying aright attitude, or whether I did it from a wrong 
motive. 5 If a man is much occupied with such a 

1 As a rule, we do not do this. Although, as already remarked 
(above, p. 135), the moral judgment is passed on a, person doing, not 
on a thing done, yet the interest of the agent is normally centred in 
a thing to be done, not in himself as doing it. Cf. also p. 355, note. 

2 Prolegomena to Ethics, pp. 269-271, and 323-327. 

3 See Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 202. 

^ I. e. right as an overt act. A man, in acting, is primarily interested 
in the question, whether he is bringing about a desirable result. In 
fudging his action, as we have already remarked (above, p. 135), we 
take account of the motive by which he is led to bring about this 
result. But the man himself, in acting, does not normally think of 
this. He simply sees the thing to be done and does it. 

6 I suspect that when men inquire into their motives in this way, 
they are frequently using the term " motive " in the more inaccurate 
sense formerly referred to (above, p. 62). They are thinking of the 
feelings that accompany their actions rather than of the ends that 



358 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V. 

question as this, it is generally a sign either of a 
morbid state of mind or of the fact that one has not 
found his true vocation in life ; for when a man has 
found his work and is doing it, he has little time left 
for such inquiries.^ Moreover, if a man's mind is 
honest and clear, he can generally answer the question 
at once, without any elaborate investigation. Conse- 
quently, when a man enters upon such inquiries, they 
have seldom reference to any single action that he 
has performed, but rather to his general attitude in 
life. 

§4. Self - Examination. — Such self-examination is 
often a direct result of a new awakening to a sense of 
the moral imperative such as we have already described 
as conversion ; but it may be carried on by men 
periodically, without any such reawakening. A man 
may ask himself whether his life is being lived on that 
level which answers to his ideal of what life should be. 
In asking this, he will generally mean partly to ask 
whether his actions, viewed as external facts, are 
exactly such as they ought to be — whether he has 
actually accomplished what was required of him in the 
given situation ; and this is a question with regard to 
overt fact. But frequently he will mean more than 

induce them to perform these actions. But even in the stricter ac- 
ceptation of the term, the inquiry into the purity of our motives is 
not irrelevant. See below, p. 359, note i, and p. 368, note i. 

1 C/. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 201. That very wise man, 
Goethe, has a remark on this, as on most other things. Referring 
to a boy who could not console himself after he had committed 
a trifling fault, " I was sorry to observe this," said Goethe, " for it 
shows a too tender conscience, which values so highly its own 
moral self that it will excuse nothing in it. Such a conscience makes 
hypochondriacal men, if it is not balanced by great activity," (Cow- 
versaiions with Eckerrnann.) 



§4.] 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



359 



this. He will frequently wish to ascertain whether the 
general principles of his conduct are right, whether he 
habitually acts in the best spirit as well as in the best 
manner — whether, for instance, he is perfectly disin- 
terested in his conduct. No doubt such an inquiry, as 
well as an inquiry into the spirit in which particular 
actions have been done, is often an evidence of a 
morbid habit of mind. A man's interests ought for the 
most part to be concentrated in the objects which he 
is seeking to accomplish rather than in his own inner 
state.2 And even if one wishes to view his acts with 
reference to the spirit in which they are done, it will 
generally be best to do this by studying some ideal 
type of the moral life, and endeavouring to follow in 
his path, rather than by a direct contemplation of one s 
own impulses and motives. The latter course has 
nearly always a tendency to paralyze action and pro- 
mote egoism. Still, there are times when the study of 
one's own motives in particular actions is beneficial, 
and also times at which it is desirable to take a survey 

1 It is in such inquiries that we become aware of what may be 
called the inner side of the virtues. The qualities involved in this 
inner side of virtue — purity of heart and the like — seem to be what 
Prof. Dewey understands by the " Cardinal Virtues." See above, p. 
341, note I. It is probably true, as Green insists, that the inner and 
outer side of virtuous action are in the long run exactly proportioned 
to one another. " There is no real reason to doubt," says Green 
{Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV., chap, i., § 295), " that the good or 
evil in the motive of an action is exactly measured by the good or 
evil in its consequences, as rightly estimated." But he admits that 
this correspondence would be fully apparent only to omniscience. 
For lis, a certain act may be evidently the right one in a given situa- 
tion {e. g. the killing of a tyrant, the passing of an Act of Parliament, 
the relief of a destitute widow, etc.)^ even if we do not know what 
motive has led to its being done. 

2 C/, above, p. 355, note. 



36o 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V. 



of one's general attitude in life. This is a part of self- 
knowledge ; and though, as Carlyle says, the motto 
Know thyself is an impossible one to carry out with 
any completeness, yet it is important to make a cer- 
tain approximation to tlie carrying of it out. One 
reason of this is, that it is not always possible in our 
actions to go fully into the reasons of what we do. We 
often require to let ourselves go, relying on the intui- 
tions that have been acquired in the course of our lives. 
On such occasions it is important that we should know 
how far we can trust ourselves to go. For this pur- 
pose it is necessary to have an insight into the nature 
of our besetting sins/' and these cannot always be 
discovered from our overt acts. There are few, how- 
ever, who carry this kind of self-knowledge very far. 
''The heart is deceitful," and even those who observe 
it most carefully are apt to miss some secret chambers. 
The advice of an intimate friend will often help one 
more than self-observation ; and even self-observation 
is generally more successful in the form of a study of 
our acts and habits than in that of a study of our secret 
motives. 

§ 5. The Study of the Ideal. — I have already re- 
marked that it is usually a more profitable way of 
developing the inner life rather to fix our attention on 
some external type than to attend to our own motives. 
Such types have frequently been selected and set up 
for the imitation of whole nations and peoples — e. g. 
Buddha, Jesus, Socrates, and the various Roman Ca- 
tholic saints. And, on a smaller scale, we have in- 
numerable biographies of heroes held up as examples 
not only of right action, but of a right attitude of mind 
and heart. Novelists also and poets have created for 



6.] 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



361 



US imaginary types to serve the same end.' Indeed, 
this may be said to be the end of all poetry, in so far 
as poetry has an end at all. It is a criticism of life/' 
inasmuch as it presents to us higher ideals of what 
life might be and ought to be — and that chiefly on its 
inner side. ^ 

§ 6. The Monastic Life. — The importance of the 
study of the inner life, whether by direct self-exam- 
ination, or by the contemplation of ideal patterns, 
has at certain times been so keenly felt that men have 
set themselves apart, like the Eastern mystics or the 
monastic orders of Catholic Christianity, for the express 
purpose of making this their study. We must regard 
this, in general, as an undesirable form of the Division 
of Labour. It had a certain justification in lawless 
times, when most men were so much occupied with 
violent action that they had no time for reflection. In 
such times men who led a contemplative life had the 
task of acting as the inner life for the whole commu- 
nity to which they belonged. And perhaps in some 
Oriental countries the nature of the climate renders it 
difficult to carry on the active and the contemplative 
life together. 3 The existence of a monastic order has 
in fact somewhat the same justification as the setting 
apart of a special day for religious worship. But just 
as, when the Sabbath is too rigidly divided from the 
rest of the week, it tends to become a mere ceremonial 

1 On the moral and aesthetic significance of "types," the student 
may be referred to Stephen's Science of Ethics, pp. 74-76. Reference 
may also be made to Bacon's De Aiigmcntis, Book VII., chap. iii. 

2 Cf. the famous passage in Goethe's Willielm Meisfer, Book II., 
chap, ii., ending, "Who but the poet was it that first formed gods 
for us ; that exalted us to them, and brought them down to us." 

3 See Marshall's Principles of Economics, p. 12. 



362 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V. 



observance, with little reference to actual practice, so 
when the priestly or monastic order is too rigidly 
divided from the rest of the community, the inner life 
comes to be regarded as their special province, with 
which the rest of mankind have no concern.' This 
has a pernicious effect on general morals, and ulti- 
mately on the morals of the monastic order itself. No 
order of men can confine their attention exclusively 
to the inner side of life ; and the pretence of doing so 
turns rapidly into cant and hypocrisy. Just as it is 
desirable that secular interests should not be entirely 
forgotten on Sunday, nor the religious spirit throughout 
the remainder of the week, so it is desirable as a gen- 
eral rule that ''all the Lord's people should be pro- 
phets," or at any rate that prophets should retain 
sufficient contact with the world to enable men of the 
world to catch something of the spirit of the prophets. 

§ 7. Beautiful Souls. — Apart, however, from the 
existence of any special order for the cultivation of 
the inner life, we occasionally find individuals who 

1 C/. the amusing account, in Milton's Areopagiticay § 55, of the 
man whose rehgion has become " a dividual movable " : "A wealthy 
man . . . finds religion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so 
many piddling accounts, that ... he cannot skill to keep a 
stock going upon that trade. . . What does he therefore, but 
resolves to give over toiling, and to find himself out some factor, to 
whose care and credit he may commit the w^hole managing of his 
religious affairs ; some divine of note and estimation that must be. 
To him he adheres, resigns the whole warehouse of his religion, 
with all the locks and keys, into his custody ; and indeed makes 
the very person of that man his religion. . . . His religion comes 
home at night, prays, is liberally supped, and sumptuously laid to 
sleep ; rises, is saluted, and after the malmsey, or some well-spiced 
bruage ... his religion walks abroad at eight, and leaves his 
kind entertainer in the shop trading all day without his religion." 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



set themselves apart for this purpose. It has been 
customary to describe these as ''beautiful souls" 
(schone Seelen) ; and Goethe has given a striking 
account of one in his Wilheb?i Meister. ' They are 
usually people who have been prevented in some way 
from taking part in the active affairs of life. The lives 
of such individuals have often a singular charm, and 
the good effects of their influence are sometimes felt 
over a wide circle ; but this is especially the case when 
they do not entirely withdraw themselves from contact 
with active life. If they do this, their contemplation 
is apt to become emptied of all real content ; their fine 
feelings turn into hysterical dreaming ; and it is well if 
they do not end in madness. 

§ 8. Asceticism. — The development of the study of 
the inner life is generally accompanied by a contempt 
for pleasure. This sometimes goes so far, as in the 
case of the Indian mystics and the ?^Iediaeval monks, 
as to lead to the positive infliction of torture. The 
ostensible reason for this is frequently the idea that 
torture is pleasing to the gods ; but the fundamental 
reason seems to lie in the desire of suppressing the 
flesh and its lusts. This is of course in some degree 
an essential of the moral life in any form ; but asceti- 
cism seems to commit the error of turning the means 
into an end. It is important to repress our lower 
desires, in order that we may be able to devote our- 
selves, without let or impediment, to the highest ends of 
life. But the ascetic regards the suppression of desire 
as the end in itself. And the effort thus to suppress all 

1 Carlyle erroneously translated schone Seele " fair Saint." For 
some very suggestive remarks on the attitude of the " beautiful 
soul," see Caird's Hegel, pp. 28-51. 



364 



ETHICS. [bk. IIL, CH. V, 



natural desire frequently defeats its own aim. It con- 
centrates attention on the objects of desire, and in a 
sense makes a man the slave of his desires as truly as 
in the case of him who yields to them. The best way 
to free ourselves from our lower desires is, as we have 
already indicated/ to interest ourselves in something 
better. It is only into a mind swept and garnished 
that the devils can enter : when it is well furnished 
and occupied they can find no room. 

§ 9. The Contemplative Life. — The study of the 
inner life is, in truth, but a part of the general life of 
speculation as distinguished from action. The distinc- 
tion between the active and the contemplative life has 
impressed men in all ages ; and different thinkers have 
attached importance to the one or the other. Aristotle 
placed the contemplative life (meaning by that the 
pursuit of scientific and philosophic truth) above the 
practical life in which the ordinary social virtues are 
exercised. 2 It is essentially the same point of view 3 
that we find among many Eastern mystics and Medi- 
aeval saints, and, in more modern times, in such men 
as Wordsworth, who withdraw from the struggle of 
ordinary labours and find a higher life and a serener 
wisdom in the contemplation of nature. Wordsworth 
says of nature that, 

" She has a world of ready wealth 
The mind and heart to bless, 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
Truth breathed by cheerfulness " ; 

1 See above, p. 350. 

2 Ethics, Book X., chaps, vii. and viii. 

3 Except (a very important qualification) that Aristotle regarded 
the active life of social duty as an indispensable preparation for the 
higher life of thought Moreover, even the life of thought he re- 



§9.] 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



and the same thought finds utterance, in more homely 

fashion, from Walt Whitman, when he says, ''I loaf 

and invite my soul. "' Ruskin also has sung the praises 

of rest and contemplation, and William Morris has 

found his earthly paradise in "a century of rest," in 

which the turmoil of modern civilization shall have 

been appeased, and men shall find a more worthy 

existence in a closer walk with nature. Similar ideas 

dominate Emerson and Thoreau. All these seem to 

think that the contemplative life is essentially higher 

than the active, and that this higher life is to be reached 

simply by withdrawing from the life of action. On 

the other hand, Carlyle preached a gospel of labour, 

and was fond of quoting the words of Sophocles that 

''the end of man is an action and not a thought," or 

the exclamation of Arnauld — " Rest ! Shall I not have 

all eternity to rest in ? This view fits in well also 

with the robust philosophy of Browning, who cannot 

even accept the orthodox view of the rest of eternity, 

but conceives of it as the most fitting address to his 

departing spirit — 

" ' Thrive and strive ' cry, ' Speed ! Fight on, fare ever, there 
as here ! ' " 

The truth seems to be that an ordinary healthy hu- 
man existence requires boths ides. There are energetic 
natures, like Caesar or Napoleon, that seem able to 
go on with a perpetual activity, scarcely requiring 
rest or reflection. But the activity of such men is not 
usually the wisest or the most beneficial. There are 
others whose special mission it seems to be to with- 
draw from the world of action and bring messages to 

garded as essentially a higher form of activity, to which the life of 
the good citizen leads up. 



366 



ETHICS. [BK. hi., CH. V. 



mankind from the inner world of feeling and reflection. 
But the wisdom of such men is apt to be deficient in 
the depth of universal applicability which a wider con- 
tact with life can give. The Wordsworths and Emer- 
sons are not equal to the Shakespeares and Goethes. For 
the majority of men, at any rate, times of action natu- 
rally alternate with times of reflection, times of creation 
with times of re-creation. In retirement we criticise 
the acts of life ; in life we criticise the ideas of retire- 
ment. Action and reflection are the gymnastic and 
music of moral culture.' 

§ 10. Relation of the Inner to the Outer Life. — 
Looking at it in a more speculative light, we may 
express the relation of the inner to the outer life in 
this way. The life of unreflective action takes place 
entirely within the universe with which we have iden- 
tified ourselves. In the contemplative life we bring 
ourselves into relation with the broader universe, 
whether revealed in the form of the moral ideal within 
us, some ideal exemplar without us, the beauty and 
suggestiveness of nature, the discovery of scientific 
law, or in any other shape. Now, since the life of all 

1 C/ Goethe's famous lines — 

" Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille, 
Sich ein Character in dem Strom der WelL" 
(" A genius forms itself in solitude ; 
A character, in struggling with the world.") 

" Music " and " Gymnastic '* w^ere the names of the two elements in 
Greek education—" Music," of course, including what used to be 
called " polite literature " and a good deal more. Plato points out in 
his Republic (Book III.) that both these elements are required for 
the development of character. See Nettleship's admirable essay 
on " The Theory of Education in Plato's Republic " {Hellenica, pp. 
67-180). 



§ lO.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 367 

of US involves progress, or, at the very lowest, re- 
adjustment to new conditions, it is impossible that it 
should be carried on successfully without a periodic 
reference to the principles on which it is based. Like 
chronometers, we can go on for a time by the mere 
impulse of our moral springs, but if we are to be kept 
in permanent order we must readjust ourselves by the 
stars. On the other hand, it would be a poor chro- 
nometer which was perpetually being set, and never 
could be let go. A life of pure reflection would never 
acquire any positive content. It would have principles, 
but no facts to apply them to ; yet it is by contact with 
such facts that the principles themselves grow. It is 
experience that tests them, and that sends us back 
again to improve them. ^'Best men are moulded out 
of faults " ; for it is our errors of conduct that reveal 
to us the defects of our principles, and show us where 
they need improvement.^ 

There are, then, these two sides in every healthy 
moral life. It is a mistake, on the one hand, to sup- 
pose that all the worth of our life lies in its outer acts. 
This is not even the only part of us that affects those 
with whom we come in contact. '']\Ien imagine," 
says Emerson, that they communicate their virtue or 
vice only by overt actions, and do not see that virtue 
or vice emit a breath every moment.'' Of course, this 
means in reality that the virtuous man acts a little dif- 
ferently from the vicious man even where the external 
act appears to be the same. - The beauty of the inner 
life, in Aristotle's phrase, ''shines through.'' Hence 
the importance of having the heart right. On the other 

1 Hence the element of truth in the popular view about the 
necessity of "sowing wild oats." See below, p. 381. 



368 



ETHICS. [BK, III., CH. V. 



hand, it is a mistake to suppose that we should be 

perpetually fingering our inner motives. If w.e do this, 

we shall always find that they are somewhat wrong. 

The impulse of the moment can never quite rise to the 

dignity of the eternal ideal; and the more we watch 

it, the less likely is it so to rise. If we make sure that 

our overt action is thoroughly right, the right motive 

will soon become habitual to us ; ' and it is a man's 

habitual motives that are important, not the motives 

that may happen to enter into a particular act. 

§ 11. The Virtuous Man and the World. — If our 

life is to be one both of action and reflection, it must 

also in a sense be one that is both in the world and 

not of it. A life of activity cannot be one of entire 

withdrawal from the world and its w^ays ; yet the man 

w^ho guides himself by reflection will not simply be 

carried along by its currents. The man who is simply 

reflective and not active is sometimes characterized as 

1 It might be thought, from what has been already said in chap, iii., 
that, if we are resolutely setting ourselves to do good actions, the 
motive of them must necessarily be good. But this is only partly 
true. If a statesman devotes himself persistently to the passing 
of beneficial laws, this must be because he takes the benefit of his 
country as fart of his motive. But he may also be influenced by the 
desire of personal fame, or even by that of spiting a rival. A man 
can seldom be quite sure that some such lower motives do not form 
part of his inducement to the performance of an action which he 
clearly sees to be in itself desirable. But the best practical course 
is evidently that of habituating ourselves to the performance of 
actions which we perceive to be desirable. By doing this, we ac- 
custom ourselves to the point of view of the " universe " within which 
the actions are good. We forget the lower universe of personal 
ambition, or of personal spite ; and, by forgetting it, we gradually 
cease to live in it. We lose ourselves in the pure interest in our ob- 
jective end ; and this is the highest motive—/, e. on the assumption 
that our objective end is really a desirable one, forming an element 
in human progress. 



§11.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 369 

^'over-conscientious."^ Sometimes this reproach is 
merely an indication of prejudice on the part of "men 
of the world ; but often it is a mark of a real want 
of decision of character, like that of Hamlet, or a 
want of appreciation of the limits within which our 
moral life has to be lived. ^ It is a man of this type 
who is sometimes said to be so good that he is good 
for nothing" (''si buon che val niente"). On the 
other hand, the commoner defect is that of living 
entirely within the universe of the society in which 
we find ourselves, and following a multitude to do 
evil. The good man adapts himself to his environ- 
ment, but tries at the same time to make his environ- 
ment better. He does not simply try to keep himself 
unspotted of the world," but also to clear the world 
of spot. Such a man will in a sense be ''not of the 
world." He will live in the light of principles which 
are not fully embodied in the modes of action around 
him. But he will not withdraw into himself, and 
abstain from taking part in the activities of his world. 
This attitude of the virtuous man is strikingly de- 
picted by Wordsworth in his sonnet to Milton, ^ in 

iSee Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, y>, 323, and Dewey's Outlines 
of Ethics, p. 201. 

2 Froude says of Julius Caesar {Ccesar, p. 339), " His habit was to 
take facts as they were, and when satisfied that his object was just, 
to go the readiest way to it." A very conscientious man can seldom 
bring himself to do this, and hence lacks " force of will." C/ above, 
pp. 82-3. Descartes was so much afraid of the indecision due to a 
reflective habit, that he thought it necessary to make it a special 
practical rule for himself, never to hesitate when once he had come 
to the conclusion that a particular line of conduct was on the w^hole 
the best See his Discourse on Method, Part III. (Veitch's translation, 
p. 25). 

8 C/. also Milton's own emphatic declaration in the Areopagitica ; 
Eth. 24 



370 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V. 



which he expresses both his aloofness and his readi- 
ness to serve. 

" Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart ; 

And yet thy heart 

The lowliest duties on herself did lay." 

§ 12. The Moral Reformer. — This twofold attitude is 
perhaps best seen in the case of great moral reformers. 
Every good man, no doubt, is a moral reformer on 
a small scale ; but occasionally in the history of a 
nation there arises a man who holds up new ideals of 
the moral life, and induces men in some degree to 
adopt them, thus advancing the general moral ideas 
of mankind. Types of such reformers are Buddha, 
Socrates, and Jesus. These are generally men who 
have a profound appreciation of the moral life of their 
peoples, and who by reflection upon it are led to 
transcend its limitations. There was no better 
Athenian citizen than Socrates, none more attached 
to his native state, none more ardent in the perform- 
ance of civic duties, few more thoroughly at home 
in its customs and traditions.^ But he was more than 
this. He had his hours of reflective abstraction, in 
which he went beneath the moral traditions of his 
nation and examined the fundamental principles on 
which they rested. This reflective examination en- 
abled him to transcend the limitations of Greek mo- 
rality, and to prepare the way for deeper conceptions 

" I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and 
unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary, but slinks 
out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not 
without dust and heat." See also Bacon's De Augmentis, Book VII., 
chap. i. 

1 See Zeller's Socrates and the Socraiic School, Part II., chap. v. 



12.] 



THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 



of duty. Similarly, Jesus was no ascetic or recluse. 
He ''came eating and drinking," and was familiar 
with the ideas and habits of his people, even of those 
that were regarded as outcast and degraded. But he 
had also his times of retirement, temptations in the 
wilderness, and withdrawal to mountains. This com- 
bination of active participation and reflective with- 
drawal enabled him to sum up the morality of his 
nation, and by summing it up to set it upon a deeper 
basis, which fitted it to become the morality of the 
modern civilized world. So it is with most great moral 
reformers. They hold, in a sense, the mirror up to 
their times and peoples. They show them clearly 
what is already stirring dimly within their own con- 
sciences. They often seem to proclaim something 
entirely new and contrary to the whole spirit of the 
age ; and consequently they often become martyrs 
to their convictions, as both Socrates and Jesus did. 
And no doubt they often do, like Moses, bring down 
a new law from heaven. But the new law was nearly 
always contained implicitly in the current morality of 
their time. They only interpreted that morality more 
carefully and strictly, freed it from self-contradictions, 
and pressed it back to the fundamental principles on 
which it rested.^ When they do more than this, their 
work is seldom entirely beneficial. It is too much 
in the air, and has too little reference to the actual 
condition of things, to have much practical effect. 
Perhaps we may venture to blame our own great 
moral reformers of recent times, Carlyle and Ruskin, 
and, still more, Tolstoi, that they have made too little 

1 See Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, pp. 323 — 330, Muirhead s Ele- 
ments of Ethics, pp, 253-4, and Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 189-90. 



372 



ETHICS. 



[BK. III., CH. V. 



effort to understand what is best in the spirit of their 
times, and that their censures, consequently, are too 
much hke the voice of one crying in the wilderness, 
an external accusation instead of an internal criticism. 
But even this would be only partly true. Carlyle and 
Ruskin are on the whole no exception to the general 
nature of moral reformers. Much of what is best in 
the spirit of the age finds in them its best expression, 
and their criticisms are to a very large extent organic 
to the thing criticised. They are to a certain extent 
the criticism of the age upon itself, its condemnation 
by its own principles, strictly interpreted ; and this is 
perhaps the only kind of criticism that is permanently 
beneficial. 




MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



373 



CHAPTER VI. 

MORAL PATHOLOGY. 

§ 1. Moral Evil. — So far we have been mainly occu- 
pied with the consideration of the moral life in its posi- 
tive aspect as a development towards goodness and 
perfection of character and social activity. We must 
now dwell for a little on its more shady aspects. Plan's 
life is not a simple struggle towards virtue and holi- 
ness : it is quite as often a lapsing into vice and sin. 
This aspect we have on the whole neglected ; and we 
must now give a little consideration to it. 

Each man's moral life may, as we have seen, be 
regarded as a universe in itself. This universe may be 
a broad one or a narrow one. In the case of the 
majority of men it is sufficiently narrow to exclude 
many human interests. This narrowness is a source 
of conflict. It causes the individual good to appear 
to be in opposition to the general good of humanity. 
There is a sense in which no one ever seeks anything 
except what he regards as good. Quidquid petitur 
peiitur sub specie honi. Evil is not sought as evil, but 
as a good under particular circumstances. ' But 

1 Many of the acts that we regard as vices were at one time scarcely 
vices at all. They are the virtues of a lower stage of civilization, a 
lower universe which has been superseded, but in which some men 
still linger. Thus, Prof. Alexander says {Moral Order and Progress 



374 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



the good sought is only the good of the universe con- 
cerned at the particular moment. This need not even 
be what the individual himself, taking a survey of his 
life, would regard as good for him : still less is it 
necessarily identical with or conformable to the general 
good. It may be the good of a very narrow universe 
■ — the universe of a man who is making no serious 
efforts to reach that rational point of view in which 
alone, as we have seen, true freedom is to be found ; 
one who, remaining in servitude to his passions and 
animal propensities, prefers ''bondage with ease to 
strenuous liberty." Indeed, there are even cases in 
which opposition to the general good becomes almost 
an end in itself; in which an individual is inclined to 
say, like Milton's Satan, ''Evil, be thou my good." 
Social duty presents itself as a continual menace to a 
man who has not learned to identify the good of society 
with his own ; and he is thus tempted to take up arms 

p. 307) : " Murder and lying and theft are a damnosa Jiereditas left 
us from a time when they were legitimate institutions : when it was 
honourable to kill all but members of the clan, or to lie without 
scruple to gain an end, and when there was promiscuity of property." 
Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 215-16. In this connection, Ben- 
tham refers to a passage in Homer where " Menelaus, courteously 
addressing a stranger, seeks to learn his occupation, and asks him 
what his business may be, whether by chance it is that of a pirate 
or w^hat other." In Aristotle's Politics (I., viii. 7, 8.) pirates are men- 
tioned along with fishermen, hunters, etc., as classes of workers who 
maintain themselves without retail trade. In Sparta, again, it was 
not thought dishonourable to steal, though it was thought dishonour- 
able to be found out. C/. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 210. Per- 
haps some forms of action which are popularly approved at the pre- 
sent day will seem equally surprising in future generations. Indeed, 
it would seem that even the pirate or fillibuster has not ceased to be 
honoured in certain quarters among ourselves. But at least we can 
say laudatur et alget, 



§ I.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 375 

against it. ^ He cannot simply set it aside, as he can 
narrower goods that lie outside his own : it is a wider 
circle that includes his own, and he must either identify 
himself with it or fight against it. This war against 
societ}^ seldom indeed presents itself in the extreme 
form in which it is depicted in Milton's -5'a/i7;z or Shake- 
speare's Tiinoji of Athens ; but on a smaller scale we see 
it often enough in the wilful mischief of children, or in 
the anti-social delight that gives its edge to scandal. 

But apart from any such war against the social good, 
even the best of men show at times ''the defects of 
their qualities,'' /. e. the limitations connected with the 
particular kind of universe in which they live ; and the 
more definite that universe is, the more marked are 
likely to be the defects. Hence the shortcomings 
which are often noticed in men of strong and original 
characters. A weak character has no definite limits. 
It flows vaguely over the boundaries of many universes, 
without distinctly occupying any. It excludes little 
because it contains little. It takes on, like a chame- 
leon, the colour of any universe with which it comes 
in contact. Such a person is not likely to offend 
profoundly against any laws of his social surround- 
ings. He will rather be ''faultily faultless," drifting 
securely because he is making for nowhere, carried 
safely by wind and tide without any force of seaman- 
ship. It is to such that the proverb applies that 
*' Fortune favours fools." No one can find any fault 

1 Cf. Shakespeare's King Richard III. :— 

" And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain, 
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.'* 



376 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



with one who has ''no character at all."' On the 
other hand, one who has great strength of char- 
acter in some particular direction has generally some 
accompanying weakness. His universe is a clear- 
cut circle, and excludes many elements of a com- 
plete moral life. Thus, the great poet, tenderly sensi- 
tive and full of high aspirations, is often deficient in 
steadiness of will and in attention to the more con- 
ventional rules of morals. The great reformer is apt 
to be inconsiderate of the weakness of others, and 
sometimes even unscrupulous in selecting the means 
to secure his purposes. The man who is devoted to 
great public achievements is often, like Socrates, un- 
successful in his domestic life. And so in many other 
cases. Hence in our moral judgments on individuals 
it is very necessary to consider not merely where they 
fell short, but also what they positively achieved or 
endeavoured. 2 A man's sins are the shadows of his 
virtues ; and though a life of transparent goodness 
would cast no shadow, yet, so long as men fall short 
of this^ the strongest virtues will often have the deepest 
shades. 

§ 2. Vice. — Moral defects may be regarded either 
from the inner or from the outer side — as flaws of 
character or as issuing in evil deeds. From the former 

1 " Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 

Most women have no characters at all."— Pope. 

It is perhaps scarcely necessary to say that I do not mean to ex- 
press agreement with this dictum. 

2 Cf. Carlyle's Essay on Burns : " Granted, the ship comes into 
harbour with shrouds and tackle damaged ; the pilot is blameworthy ; 
he has not been all-wise and all-powerful : but to know how blame- 
worthy, tell us first whether his voyage has been round the Globe, 
or only to Ramsgate and the Isle of Do^s." 



§2.] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



377 



point of view, we may describe them as vices — vice ^ 
being the term that corresponds to virtue, and that 
denotes the inner stain of character rather than the 
overt act. From the outer side, we may speak of them 
rather as sins and crimes. The inner side is more 
extensive than the outer ; for stains in the inner char- 
acter may be to a large extent concealed, and not 
issue definitely in evil deeds — though they can scarcely 
fail to give a certain colour to our outer acts. It is 
chiefly Christianity that has taught us to attach as 
much weight to the evil in the heart as to the evil in 
outer deeds.^ The more superficial view is to regard 
the latter as alone of importance. Such sayings as 
whoever looketh on a woman to lust after her, has 
committed adultery with her already in his heart/' 
gave a new extension to the conception of morals. 
Similarly, the conception of morality was deepened 
when it was recognized that an action which is ex- 
ternally good may in reality be evil if it is not done 
from the highest motive. ^'Whatever is not of faith 
is sin." 3 It was from this point of view that some of 

1 From Latin vitiinn, a defect or blemish. Sin appears to come 
from a root meaning a breach of right. The corresponding Greek 
word, afxapria, mcans an error. Crime is from the Latin crimen, an 
accusation or judgment. 

2 The term generally employed by Christian writers, however, is 
rather Sin than Vice. And thus Sin, though properly referring to an 
outer act rather than to a stain of character, has acquired the sense 
of Vice, and indeed has com.e to bear an even more inward meaning 
than Vice. For Vice corresponds to Virtue, and means a general 
habit of character issuing in particular bad acts ; whereas Sin, as 
used by Christian writers, refers more often to the inner disposition 
of the heart, want of purity in the motive, and the like. It is in this 
sense, for instance, that St. Paul speaks of " sin dwelling in him." 

3 Cf, Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp, 114-115. 



378 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



the early Christian writers spoke of the virtues of the 
heathen as only splendid vices." ' 

If we were to attempt to classify vices, the subdivi- 
sions of them would naturally correspond to those of 
the virtues. Thus we should have vices arising from 
our yielding to pleasure, or failing to endure pain, or 
not being sufficiently wise in our choice or strenuous 
in our purposes. We should also have various vices 
connected with imperfections in our social relation- 
ships. But into the details of such a classification we 
need not here enter. 

§ 3. Sin. — Although it is true, however, that the inner 
side of an evil character is quite as important, from a 
moral point of view, as the evil acts that flow from it, 
yet it must be remembered that there is a considerable 
difference between vice that remains in the heart and 
vice that issues in an evil deed; just as there is a dif- 
ference between virtue that remains mere '*good in- 
tention and virtue that issues in deed. Mr. Muirhead 
remarks on this pointer ''How far the resolution is 
from the completed act has become a proverb in respect 
to good resolutions. It is not, perhaps, very creditable 
to human nature that a similar reflection with regard 
to bad resolutions does not make us more charitable 
to persons who are caught apparently on the way to a 
crime. Ho fading {Psychology, Eng. ed., p. 342) quotes 
a case of a woman who, having got into a neighbour's 
garden for the purpose of setting fire to her house, and 
been taken almost in the act, swore solemnly in court 

1 Green, however, rightly insists that the best Greek writers were 
perfectly aware of the importance of the inner motive. See his 
Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III., chap, v., § 252 ; and cf. below, p.407 

2 Elements of Ethics, p. 50, note. 



§3.] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



379 



that she knew she would not have perpetrated the act, 
but hesitated to state upon oath that she had abandoned 
her intention when she was surprised. With this we 
may compare the passage in Mark Rutherford's story 
of Miria77ts Schooling, where, speaking of Miriam's 
temptation to take her own Hfe, he says : ' Afterwards 
the thought that she had been close to suicide was for 
months a new terror to her. She was unaware that 
the distance between us and dreadful crimes is much 
greater often than it appears to he. ' " ^ Perhaps we should 
say, then, not merely that Hell is paved with good 
intentions," but that Heaven is paved with bad ones. 
It should be remembered, however, that there is an 
important difference here between good intentions and 
bad intentions. Bad intentions, like good intentions, 
are often frustrated by infirmity of purpose. In this 
case the good intention is not so good as the good act ; 
whereas the bad intention is on the whole worse than 
the bad act. We do not think the better of Macbeth 
for his hesitation in committing murder ; and often we 
feel almost an admiration for a determined crime. On 
the other hand, if a crime is prevented by genuine 
moral scruples, which arise often just at the moment 
when we have the opportunity of actually performing 

1 C/. Carlyle's French Revolution, vol. iii., Book I., chap. iv. : 
" From the purpose of crime to the act there is an abyss ; wonderful 
to think of. The finger Hes on the pistol ; but the man is not yet a 
murderer : nay, his whole nature staggering at such a consum- 
mation, is there not a confused pause rather — one last instant of pos- 
sibility for him ?" This distinction is, indeed, generally recognized 
in our ordinary moral judgments — though perhaps it is not so much 
dwelt upon as the corresponding distinction in the case of good 
actions. C/. Adam Smith's Theory ot Moral Sentiments, Part II., sect 
III., chap. ii. 



3^0 ETHICS, [bK. III., CH. VI. . 

the deed, the hesitation which then arises is partly an 
exculpation. Thus we think on the whole the better 
of Lady Macbeth for her exclamation — 

" Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had done't." 

While, then, it is the case that a good intention is 
always inferior to the corresponding good deed/ it 
depends on circumstances w^hether a bad intention is 
or is not less evil than a bad deed.^ 

So also, from the point of view of the development 
of the character of the agent, a bad deed is often less 
evil than a stain in the character which does not go 
forth in action. An overt act brings, as a rule, an overt 
punishment. At any rate, the wickedness of the act is 
made openly apparent, in a way in which an evil 
thought is not made apparent. And when a man thus 
sees plainly the consequences of his action, he is often 
led to repent of it and amend his life. It is here that 
we see the element of truth in the common idea of the 

1 Even this, no doubt, is subject to some qualification. A compar- 
atively unscrupulous man may often perform an action on the whole 
good, where a more conscientious man would hesitate. In such a 
case we should not always regard the conscientious man as blame- 
worthy. Still, even here, the good intention of the conscientious 
man is not so good as his good action would have been, if only he 
could have brought himself to do it — though it may be as praise- 
worthy as the good action of a man who is more unscrupulous. 

2 Of course evil thoughts may also pass through a man's mind 
without getting the length even of intentions. In this case they 
are not morally culpable. Cf. Milton's Paradise Lost, Book V. — 

" Evil into the mind of God or man 
May come and go, so unapproved, and leave 
No spot or blame behind." 

Even such evil, however, may be taken as evidence of the existence 



§4.] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



benefit of ''sowing wild oats/' Here also we see the 
force of Luther's Pecca foriiter. ' If there is evil in a 
man's heart it is generally best that it should come out 
plainly. There is more hope of a straightforward sin- 
ner than of one who is neither cold nor hot.^ 

§ 4. Crime. — The term Crime is generally used in a 
narrower sense than sin. It denotes only those offences 
against society which are recognized by national law, 
and which are liable to punishment. It is impossible 
that all moral offences should be brought under this 
category. Ingratitude, for instance, cannot be made 
punishable by law, because it would be practically 
impossible to specify the offences that come under this 
head. Again, the moral sense of conscientious persons 
is constantly outrunning the ordinary moral code of 
the society to which they belong, and thus inventing 

of some lower universe within a man's nature— some extinct vol- 
cano, as it were — which may at some time or other burst forth into 
action. Milton, I suppose, would scarcely have admitted this— at 
least with regard to God. 

1 C/. Browning's The Statue and the Bust — 

" The sin I impute to each frustrate ghost 
Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, 
Though the end in view was a vice, I say." 

See Jones's Browning as a Philosophical and Religious Teacher, pp. 
Ill— 118. 

2 Similarly, in the life of a state, it is often desirable that an evil 
should be brought to a head. For this reason, it has often been ob- 
served that it is generally better to have a thoroughly bad despot 
than a half good one. Thus Hallam remarks {Constitutional History 
of England), "We are much indebted to the memory of Barbara, 
Duchess of Cleveland, Louisa, Duchess of Portsmouth, and Mrs. 
Eleanor Gwyn. . . . They played a serviceable part in ridding 
the kingdom of its besotted loyalty." Cf. Buckle's History of Civil- 
isatioUj vol. i., p, 338, where this passage is more fully given. 



382 



ETHICS. [BK, IIL, CH. VL 



sins which are not recognized as crimes. Also when 
the evil effects of a sin fall mainly on the perpetrator 
of it, it is generally thought unnecessary to have a 
special law against it. 

§ 5. Punishment. — Sin always brings evil conse- 
quences with it, and these evil consequences always 
react in some way upon the perpetrator. It was one 
of the paradoxes of the Socratic teaching that it is 
worse for a man to do wrong than to suffer wTong. In 
a sense this is true. The consequences of suffering 
wrong are external. They do not hurt the soul ; where- 
as when a man does wrong, he lowers himself in the 
scale of being, and thus wrongs himself worse than 
any one else could wrong him. Still, the evil effects 
of a man's wrongdoing upon himself are not always 
apparent either to himself or to others. He often seems 
to have got off scot-free. Now this is contrary to our 
natural sense of justice. We naturally think that a 
man should be rewarded according to his deeds. And 
this idea seems to have a rational justification. The 
virtuous man is fighting on the side of human progress, 
and we feel it natural to expect that the gods will fight 
with him, and that his labours will prosper. The vi- 
cious man, on the other hand, is fighting against the 
gods, against our ideals of right ; and it seems un natural 
and unreasonable that his course should prosper. If 
for a time the virtuous man is unsuccessful, we yet feel 
bound to believe that his ultimate reward cannot ''be 
dust." ' His cause at least must prosper, unless the 
M^orld is founded on injustice ; and it is natural to ex- 
pect and hope that he will prosper along with it. On 



1 See the concluding paragraphs in Sidgwick's Methods oj^ Ethics, 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



the other hand, if the wicked for a time seems to 
flourish, we cannot help believing that his triumph is 
ephemeral, that in the long run the wages of sin must 
be death. It is here that the natural feelings of grati- 
tude and revenge find their rational basis. Of course, 
we are not here maintaining that these feelings derive 
their origin from any such rational consideration. The 
psychological question of the development of these 
feelings is not now under consideration.' But these 
feelings could scarcely maintain their ground in the 
developed consciousness of mankind unless they had 
support in reason ; and it is this rational support that 
we have now to take notice of. 

Now it is out of these natural feelings that reward 
and punishment take their origin. In the case of 
revenge, indeed, and to some extent even in the case 
of gratitude, there is a certain tendency for the feeling 
to grow weaker as the race develops, so far as merely 
personal relationships are concerned. The primeval 
man resents keenly every wrong done to himself or to 
those who are intimately connected with himself, and 
seeks to return it at the earliest opportunity upon the 
head of the perpetrator. As the moral consciousness 
develops, this feeling of personal resentment becomes 
less keen. Men begin to learn that their merely per- 
sonal wrongs are not of infinite importance ; and under 
certain circumstances forgiveness becomes possible. 
They see that a wrongdoer to them is not necessarily 
a wrongdoer to humanity ; and it is only this last that 

1 On this point, see Mill's Utilitarianism, chap. v. See also Adam 
Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part II., sect. II., chap, iii., 
where the distinction between an inquiry into the origin of revenge 
and an inc^uiry into its rational basis is clearly drawn. 



384 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. VI. 



is of moment. As regards society, however, there is 
not anything like the same weakening of the sense of 
injury. A wrong against social law is a wrong against 
humanity, and cannot be forgiven until the offended 
majesty of the law has been appeased, i. e. until the 
wrongness and essential nullity of the act has been 
made apparent. It is here that the justification of 
punishment is to be found. 

§ 6. Theories of Punishment. — Three principal the- 
ories of the aims of punishment have been put forward. 
These are generally known as the preventive (or deter- 
rent), the educative (or reformative), and the retribu- 
tive theories. According to the first view, the aim 
of punishment is to deter others from committing simi- 
lar offences. It is expressed in the familiar dicium of 
the judge — -''You are not punished for stealing sheep, 
but in order that sheep may not be stolen." If this 
were the sole object of punishment, it seems probable 
that, with the development of the moral consciousness, 
it would speedily be abolished : for it could scarcely be 
regarded as just to inflict pain on one man merely for 
the benefit of others. It would involve treating a man 
as a thing, as a mere means, not an end in himself. 
The second view is that the aim of punishment is to 
educate or reform the offender himself. This appears 
to be the view that is most commonly taken at the 
present time ; ' because it is the one which seems to 
fit in best with the humanitarian sentiments of the 
age. It is evident that this theory could hardly be 
used to justify the penalty of death ; and many other 

1 Though perhaps it is most often heTcJ iu cqxijiiiiction with the 
preceding view (the deterrent). 



6.] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY, 



forms of punishment also would have to be regarded 
from this point of view as ineffective. Indeed it is 
probable that in many instances kind treatment would 
have a better effect than punishment. The third view 
is that the aim of punishment is to allow a man's deed 
to return on his own head, e. to make it apparent 
that the evil consequences of his act are not merely 
evils to others, but evils in which he is himself in- 
volved. ' This is the view of punishment which ap- 
pears to accord best with the origin of punishment 
among early peoples : but in later times, especially 
in Christian countries, there has been a tendency 
to reject it in favour of one or other of the two pre- 
ceding theories, because it seems to rest on the 
unchristian passion of revenge. In this objection, 
however, there seems to be a misunderstanding in- 
volved. Revenge is condemned by Christianity on 
account of the feeling of personal malevolence which 
is involved in it. But retribution inflicted by a court 
of justice need not involve any such feeling. Such a 
court simply accords to a man what he has earned. 
He has done evil, and it is reasonable that the evil 
should return upon himself as the wages of his sin — 
the negative value which he has produced. Indeed 
there would in a sense be an inner self-contradiction 
in any society which abstained from inflicting pun- 
ishment upon the guilty. Suppose a society had a 
law against stealing and yet allowed a thief who 
was unable to make restitution to escape scot-free. 

1 For an emphatic statement of this view, see Carlyle's Latter- 
Day PsLfnphlets, No. 2. See also Adam Smith's Theory of Moral 
Sentiment, Part II., sect. I., chap. W.,note, Bradley's Ethical Studies^ 
Essav I., and Diihring's Cwrsws der Philosophie, sect. IV., chap. ii. 
"Eth. 25 



386 



ETHICS. [bK. III., CH. VI. 



The laws of such a society would be little more 
than injunctions or recommendations to its citizens. 
They would not have the force of imperatives, or 
at least they would be imperatives which are liable 
to exceptions. Absolute imperatives must either be 
able to prevent any violation of their commands, 
or else must in some way vindicate their author- 
ity when they are violated.^ This seems to be the 
primary aim of punishment. It should be observed 
however, that this aim in a sense'^ncludes the other 
two. If the aim of punishment is to vindicate the 
authority of the law, this will be partly done in so far 
as the offender is reformed, and in so far as similar acts 
are prevented. And indeed neither reformation nor 
prevention is likely to be effected by punishment unless 
it is recognised that the punishment is a vindication of the 
laiu — /. e. a revelation of the fact that the law holds 
good although it has been broken, that, in a sense, 
the breaking of it is a nullity. It is only when an 
offender sees the punishment of his crime to be the 
natural or logical outcome of his act that he is likely 
to be led to any real repentance ; and it is only this 
recognition also that is likely to lead others to any real 
abhorrence of crime, as distinct from fear of its con- 
sequences. We may regard the retributive theory, 
then, when thus understood, as the most satisfactory 
of all the theories of punishment.^ 

1 Cf. above, p. 167, note 2. 

2 A complete discussion of the theory of Punishment must be left 
to writers on the Philosophy of Law. I have here noticed only those 
points that seemed most important. The most original and sug- 
gestive treatment of the whole subject is that contained in Hegel's 
Philosophy of Right, §§ 96-103. Besides the theories above re- 
ferred to, there are other possible views of Punishment. For in- 



§7-] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



§ 7. Responsibility. — In considering the subject of 
punishment, it is necessary to ascertain to what extent 
a man is to be regarded as responsible for his actions. 
The plea of insanity is always held to exempt a man 
from punishment ; but some thinkers go much further 
than this. Some hold, in fact, that all crime ought 
to be regarded as an evidence of insanity, and conse- 
quently that no one is to be regarded as responsible 
for his evil deeds, ^stead of punishing men for their 
crimes, therefore, we ought rather to try to cure them 
of their distempers.' This view, of course, rests on the 
purely determinist conception of human conduct. It 
regards a man's acts not as the outcome of himself but 
of his circumstances. If the view of freedom which 
we have already taken is correct, this idea is false. A 
man's acts, when he is fully aware of what he is doing, 
are the expression of his own character; and it is im- 
possible to go behind this character and fix the blame 
of it on some one else.^ The case of insanity is dif- 
ferent. Here the man is alienated from himself, and 
his acts are not his own. Of course, we must recog- 

stance, there is the view that a main object of Punishment is to get 
rid of the offender, so as to prevent him from working further mis- 
chief. This is a preventive theory in a somewhat different sense 
from that already referred to under that name. But this view would 
evidently apply only to some forms of Punishment. For an interest- 
ing treatment of the whole subject, the student may be referred to 
Green's Collected Works, Vol. II., pp. 486 — 511. Discussions on this 
subject will also be found in Stephen's Social Rights and Duties 
and in the International Journal of Ethics, Vol. II., No. i, pp. 20 — 31 
and 51—76, and No. 2, pp. 232-239 ; also Vol. IV., No. 3, pp. 269-284, 
Vol. v., No. 2, pp. 241-243, Vol. VI., No. 4, pp. 479-502, and Vol. VH., 
No. I, pp. 95-6. 

1 This is amusingly illustrated in S. Butler's Erewho7t, 

2 C/. above, Book I, chap, iii, especially the Note at the end 



388 



. ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



nize in the sane man also a certain part of conduct for 
which he is not entirely responsible. Ignorance ex- 
cuses much, unless the ignorance is itself culpable. 
Any condition in which a man is not fully master of 
himself removes his responsibility, except when — as in 
drunkenness — he can be blamed for the condition in 
which he is. When an act is done impulsively, also, 
a man has not the same full responsibility as he has for 
a deliberate action ; except in so far as he is to be 
blamed for having habitually lived in a universe in 
which impulsive acts are possible.^ 

§ 8. Remorse. — When an evil deed has been done, 
and when the wickedness of it has been brought home 
to the actor, it is accompanied by what is known as 
the pain of conscience. This pain arises from the 
sense of discord between our deeds and our ideals. 
It is proportioned, therefore, not to the enormity of 
our sins, but to the degree of discrepancy between 
these and our moral aspirations. In the ''hardened 
sinner" it is scarcely felt at all, because he has habitu- 
ated himself to live within a universe with whose 
ideals his acts are in perfect harmony. It is only in 
the rare moments in which he becomes aware of the 
larger universe beyond, that he is made conscious of 
any pang. On the other hand, in a sensitive moral 
nature, habituated to the higher universe of moral 
purpose, an evil deed is not merely accompanied by a 
. pang of conscience, but, if it is an evil of any con- 
siderable magnitude, by a recurrent and persistent 
sense of having fallen from one's proper level. This 
persistent feeling of degradation is known as remorse. 
In its deepest form, it is not merely a grief for parti- 
1 On this whole subject, see Aristotle's Ethics^ Book III,, chap, V, 



§9-] 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



cular acts but a sense of degradation in one's whole 
moral character — a sense that one has offended against 
the highest law, and that one's whole nature is in 
need of regeneration. The best expression of this in 
all literature, is, I suppose, that contained in the 51st 
Psalm: ''Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and 
done this evil in thy sight. . . . Behold, I was shapen 
in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me,'* 
etc. 

§ 9. Reformation. — The natural effect of remorse ' is 
to lead to a reformation of character. This effect may 
be prevented by ''stifling the conscience/' e. by per- 
sistently withdrawing our attention from the higher 
moral universe and endeavouring to habituate our- 
selv^es to a life in a lower one. This endeavour may 
easily be successful. There is nothing inevitable 
about the higher point of view. Facilis descensus 
Averni, But if we do not thus abstract our attention 
from the voice of conscience, the natural result is that 
we make an effort to regain the level from which we 
have fallen, to bring our own actions once more into 
accordance with the ideals of which we are aware. 
This rise often requires a certain renewal of our whole 
nature. It requires a process of conversion like that 
to which we have already referred. Such a process is 
brought out in the Psalm which we have already quoted. 

1 Some writers limit the application of the term " remorse " to those 
cases in which it does not lead to repentance. Sometimes the sense 
of aberration from the right path is so strong, that a return to it 
seems impossible, and the mind sinks into absolute despair. But 
there seems to be no sufficient reason for confining the term to such 
cases as these. It applies properly to any case in which there is a 
gnawing fain of Conscience. The word is derived from the Latin 
rmorU^o meaning " to bite again and again," 



390 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean. . . . 
Create in me a clean heart." What is here figuratively 
referred to is the process of habituating ourselves to a 
higher universe, involving a transformation of our 
whole nature. When such a transformation is effected, 
it becomes almost impossible to act upon the lower 
level. Our habits of action become adjusted to the 
ideal within us, and go on almost without an effort. 
The will becomes to some extent '*holy." Indeed 
some religious enthusiasts have even thought that 
such a process of sanctification may go so far as to 
make sin an impossibility.' But this is an exaggera- 
tion ; ^'for virtue," as Hamlet says, cannot so in- 
oculate our old stock but we shall relish of it.'' What 
actually is possible is that we should definitely identify 
our wills with the highest point of view, and habituate 
ourselves by degrees to action that is in accordance 
with this. In this way we may asymptotically ap- 
proximate to a state of perfect holiness of will. 

§ 10. Forgiveness.— The place of punishment has 
been indicated as the recoil of guilt upon the offender, 
thereby asserting the majesty of law, and leading on, 
through this, to repentance and reformation. In this 
way ''the wheel comes full circle": the crime is 
wiped out — /. e, its essential nullity is exhibited — 
within the universe occupied by the criminal. It 
is possible, however, that this revolution may be 
effected without the intervention of punishment. The 
guilt may be brought home to the mind, not by the 
working of it out within the universe in which it has 

1 Cf First Epistle of John, chap, iii., 9. : Whosoever is born of 
God doth not commit sin ; for his seed remaineth in him ; and he 
cannot sin, because he is born of God." 



§11.] 



MORAL PATHOLOGVo 



391 



arisen, but by rising to a higher universe. Education, 
for instance, may bring about this result. Modern 
humanitarian sentiment leads us, as far as possible, to 
seek to deal with criminals — especially young criminals 
— in this way, rather than by way of punishment. 
Where this is possible^ the offence can be forgiven, be- 
cause it no longer exists at the higher point of view. 
It must be remembered, however, that to say this is 
not to deny the validity of the preceding account of 
punishment.^ 

§ 11. Social Corruption. — So far we have been look- 
ing at moral evil only as it appears in the individual 
life. But a society, as well as an individual, may have 
moral excellence or defect. It may have its customs 
and its institutions so framed as to give encourage- 
ment to its citizens at every turn to live at the highest 
human level ; or it may have them so devised as to 
obstruct the moral life and make virtue, in certain 
aspects, almost an impossibility. ^ Civilization ought 
to mean the arrangement of social conditions so as to 
make virtue as easy and vice as difficult as possible. 
But civilization, as it actually exists, is partly a product 
of the vices as well as of the virtues of mankind ; and 
is adapted to the former as well as to the latter. It is 
not arranged for the extinction of vice, but at most, in 
Burke's language, that vice may lose half its evil by 
losing all its grossness/' It is arranged not for the 
promotion of virtue but only of respectability. Heroic 

1 Some highly suggestive remarks on the relation between Pun- 
ishment and Forgiveness will be found in Caird's Hegel, pp. 28-30. 

2 Mr. Muirhead enumerates, as illustrations of such institutions 
(Elements of Ethics, p. 174), "brothels, gambling dens, cribs, and 
cramming establishments." 



39^ 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. Yl. 



virtue is in many ways made difficult rather than easy.* 
Among the rich luxury is encouraged. Wants are 
multiplied, and go on multiplying themselves, and 
men are tempted to seek the satisfaction of them by 
dishonourable means. The poor, on the other hand, 
are exploited — /. e. used as a mere means for the ad- 
vantage of others. They have no leisure for culture 
and are exposed to many temptations. When a nation 
has reached such a stage as this, it often declines and 
falls. Indeed it must do so, Unless it is reawakened 
by a reformer, such as in our own time Carlyle and 
Ruskin. Sometimes also it is saved by a revolution ; 
but this generally involves almost as much moral evil 
as the corrupt state of society itself. Sometimes, again, 
a nation wanders so far from the ways of righteousness 
that other nations feel justified in stepping in for its 
punishment. It is in such cases that an offensive war- 
fare seems to be justified. But it is seldom that one 
nation is thus entitled to make itself the judge of an- 
other. The Jews seem to have regarded themselves 
in this way in ancient times. In modern times, as a 
general rule, only a combination of nations could feel 
themselves to represent the side of right reason against 
the corruptions of some particular society.^ 

^ See Carlyle's view on this point in his Essay on "The Opera." 

2 This chapter is of course concerned only with the ethical aspect 
of moral pathology. For other aspects see the interesting books by 
Mr. W. D. Morrison on Juvenile Offenders 3.nd Crime and its Causes ; 
also Enrico Ferri's Criminal Sociology, Maudsley's Body and Mind, 
and other works on morbid psychology, criminology, &c. 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



393 



Note ox Moral Sanxtioxs. 
It may be well at this point to explain what is understood by the 
Sanctions of Conduct. The term has been introduced into Ethics 
in consequence of the strongly jural way in which the subject has 
frequently been treated.! a sanction means primarily a ratification.^ 
Hence it comes to be applied to that which ratifies or gives force to 
the laws of a state — /. e. the punishment attached to their violation. 
The meaning of the term has been extended, chiefly by Utilitarian 
writers, to anything that gives force to the laws of Duty — i. e, to the 
motives b^' which men are induced to f ultil their obligations. Accord- 
ing to the Utilitarian writers, the only motives are fear of pain and 
hope of pleasure. And the pal.is and pleasures may present them- 
selves in a variety of forms. Thus, there is frequently a physical 
pain as a consequence of the violation of Dut5^ Again, there are 
the pains of social disapproval, and the pleasures of the approbation 
of our fellow-men. The pains of Hell and the pleasures of Heaven 
have also, at certain periods of human history, served as motives to 
right conduct. Xow, if the view of Ethics indicated in the present 
handbook is to be accepted, all this is not of much ethical impor- 
tance. The right m.otive to good conduct is the desire to realize the 
highest end of human life ; ^ and what this is we have already seen. 
That we may be moved to act rightly in other ways is a fact rather 
of ps^'chological, historical, or sociological, than of strictl}' ethical 
interest It is also, no doubt, a fact of some importance for juris- 
prudence, education,^ and practical politics. Since, however, the 

! C/. Sidgwick's History of Ethics,, pp. 8-10. 

2 E. g. " The Pragmatic Sanction." It is derived from the Latin 
sandio, and means primarily " the act of binding," or "that w^hich 
serves to bind a man." Cf. Bentham's Principles of Morals and 
Legislation, chap, iii., note to sect. II. 

3 It is scarcely necessary to repeat that this motive need not be 
consciously present. (C/! above, p. 197) In a particular good action 
the motive is as a rule simply the interest in some particular good 
to be achieved. But the ultimate justification of our interest in a 
particular good consists in the fact that it is an element in the gen- 
eral good ; and our interest in a particular good requires frequently 
to be modified and corrected by reference to this. 

4 Sanctions, as already noted f above, p. 294.), are of use as helping 
to form habits of good willing and good conduct ; though this use 
of them should be gradually decreased till the necessity for them 
disappears. Cf. Miss Gilliland's paper on " Pleasure and Pain in 
Education," pp. 301-3. 



394 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI, 



consideration of these external motives plays a prominent part in 
the Utilitarian theory of morals, some further remarks on this point 
seem to be called for. 

If the theory of Universalistic Hedonism is accepted, and if this 
theory is made to rest on the basis of Psychological Hedonism, it 
becomes important to consider the motives by which the individual 
is led to seek the general happiness. His primary desire, according 
to this view, is for his own greatest happiness ; and he can be led to 
seek the general happiness only by being led to see that the conduct 
which leads to " the greatest happiness of the greatest number " is in 
the long run identical with that which leads to his own greatest 
happiness. Now it is chiefly by means of the Sanctions that this 
identity is shown. As Bentham puts it,i the general happiness is 
the final cause of human action ; but the efficient cause for any given 
individual is the anticipation of his ow^n pleasure or pain. " The 
happiness of the individuals, of whom a community is composed, 
that is, their pleasures and their securit3^2 is the end and the sole 
end w^hich the legislator ought to have in view ; the sole standard, 
in conformity to which each individual ought, as far as depends 
upon the legislator, to be made to fashion his behaviour. But 
w^hether it be this or anything else that is to be done, there is no- 
thing by which a man can ultimately be made to do it, but either pain 
or pleasure." Accordingly, Bentham proceeds to enumerate the 
various kinds of pain and pleasure which may be made to serve as 
motives to the adoption of those forms of conduct which it is desir- 
able, with a view to the general happiness, that men should be in- 
duced to follow. These various kinds of pain and pleasure are what 
he calls the Sanctions. 

Bentham enumerates s four classes of such Sanctions, which he 
calls the physical, the political, the moral, and the religious. If the 

1 Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap. iii. 

2 Bentham does not, of course, mean that the principle of security 
is to be regarded as an independent end in addition to pleasure 
He only mentions it as the indispensable condition of the certainty, 
duration, and fecundity of our pleasures. Cf his Principles of the 
Civil Code, Part. II., chap. vii. Of all the principles subordinate to 
utility, there was none to w^hich he attached so much importance 
as to that of security. 

3 Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap. iii. Cf. also Principles 
of Legislation, chap, vii., and Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 240- 
24> 



MORAL PATHOLOGY. 



395 



pleasure or pain comes simply in the ordinary course of nature, and 
is not attached to our actions by the will of any individual, such a 
source of motives is called a physical s3.nction. The pains following 
from drunkenness are an example. If, on the other hand, the plea- 
sure or pain is attached to an action by the will of a sovereign ruler 
or government, it is called a political sanction ; as in the case of or- 
dinary judicial punishment. If it is attached to an action by the will 
of individuals who are not in a position of authority, it is called a 
moral {popular) sanction ; as when a man is " boycotted " or " loses 
caste." Finally, if it is attached to an action by the will of a super- 
natural power, it is called a religions sanction ; as in the case of 
Heaven and Hell, or of the penalties inflicted by the Roman Catholic 
Church as the representative of the Divine will on earth. It may be 
w^orth while to give Bentham's own examples.^ " A man's goods, 
or his person, are consumed by fire. If this happened to him by 
what is called an accident, it was a calamity : 2 if by reason of his 
own imprudence (for instance, from his neglecting to put his candle 
out ) it may be styled a punishment of the physical sanction ; if it 
happened to him by the sentence of the political magistrate, a pun- 
ishment belonging to the political sanction ; that is, what is com- 
monly called a punishment : if for want of any assistance which his 
neighbour withheld from him out of some dislike to his moral char- 
acter, a punishment of the moral sanction : if by an immediate act 
of Gods displeasure, manifested on account of some sin committed 
by him, or through any distraction of mind, occasioned by the dread 
of such displeasure, a punishment of the religious sanction." 

J. S. Mill accepted all these sanctions, but characterized them all 
as " external " ; and held that w^e ought to recognize, in addition to 
them, the " internal " sanction of Conscience — /. e. the pleasures and 
pains of the moral sentiments.^ All the other sanctions are to a 
large extent " physical." Indeed, Bentham himself says,4 " Of these 
four sanctions the phj^sical is all together, we may observe, the 
groundwork of the political and the moral ; so is it also of the reli- 
gious, in as far as the latter bears relation to the present life. It is 

1 Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap, iii., § ix. 

2 In this case, of course, it is not a sanction at all ; since it is not 
regarded as a result of any particular kind of conduct, and conse- 
quently does not serve as an inducement to the avoidance of any 
particular kind of conduct. 

8 Utilitarianism, chap, iii., p. 41 sqq. 

4 Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap, iii., § xi. 



396 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VI. 



included in each of those other three. This i may operate in any 
case (that is, any of the pains or pleasures belonging to it may 
operate) independently of them ^ : none of them can operate but by 
means of this. In a word, the powers of nature may operate of 
themselves ; but neither the magistrate, nor men at large 3 can 
operate, nor is God in the case in question supposed to operate, but 
through the powers of nature." What Mill calls the " internal " 
sanction, on the other hand, does not rest on physical conditions, 
but is purely psychological or subjective ; though the particular 
way in which it is developed is, no doubt, affected by the external 
environment in which our lives are passed.'* 

If we had accepted the Utilitarian theory of morals, it would have 
been necessary to discuss these various sanctions at much greater 
length. But from the point of view here adopted it is not necessary 
to concern ourselves any further with them.5 



1 The physical sanction. 

2 The other three sanctions. 

8 It might be urged that the moral sanction sometimes takes the 
form simply of an expression of opinion. The fear of adverse public 
opinion is often one of the strongest forms of this sanction. But I 
suppose Bentham would say that even in this case the expression of 
the opinion takes place " through the powers of nature," viz. through 
vibrations of sound or light. 

4 Professor Sidgwick notes {History of Ethics, p. 242, note) that 
even Bentham, in one of his letters to Dumont, refers separately to 
what are ordinarily called moral sentiments as " sympathetic and 
antipathetic sanctions." He thus partly anticipated Mill. But there 
is no official recognition of these sanctions in his published waitings. 
The reason is probably that Bentham had a supreme contempt for 
such sympathetic and antipathetic sentiments. See his Principles 
of Morals and Legislation, chap, ii., § xi., note. 

5 An excellent account of the Sanctions will be found in Fowler's 
Progressive Morality, chaps, i. and ii. Cf also Sidgwick's Methods 
of Ethics, Book II , chap, v., and concluding chapter ; and Muir- 
head's Elements of Ethics, pp. 101-4. It should be observed that 
the use of terms is not quite uniform. Bentham's Political Sanction 
is sometimes described as the Legal Sanction ; and his Moral or 
Popular Sanction is frequently described as the Social Sanction; 
while the term " Moral Sanction " is reserved for Mill's Internal 
Sanction. This use of the terms seems preferable to Bentham's, 



V 



MORAL PROGRESS. 



197 



CHAPTER VII. 

'moral progress. 

5 1. Social Evolution. — Although we have frequently 
referred, throughout the preceding chapters, to the fact 
that the moral life is to be regarded as a process of 
development, yet our treatment of it has been to a 
large extent statical. What has been said, however, in 
the closing paragraphs of the last two chapters, with 
reference to the work of the moral reformer, seems to 
lead us naturally to a more explicit consideration of 
the conditions of moral development. That there is a 
certain ^'increasing purpose through the ages,'' is a 
truth that is now in some form generally admitted, 
however much we may be tempted at times to doubt it. 
This is on the whole an entirely modern conception, and 
is somewhat contrary to the impressions of the natural 
man. It is not only to the graceful pessimism of a 
Horace that the present generation seems a degenerate 
offspring of heroic sires. The idea of a Golden Age 
behind us, of the ''good old times,'' when men were 
uncorrupted by the luxuries and follies of a later age, 
of the "wisdom of our ancestors," when men looked 
at the world with a fresher and deeper glance, has a 
certain natural fascination for the discontented spirit 
of man. Nor is it entirely without a basis in fact. If 
*'new occasions bring new duties," they also bring 
new opportunities for vice. Looking, for instance, at 



398 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VIL 



the commercial morality of the present time, and com- 
paring it with the practices of more primitive peoples, 
we have often a difficulty in determining whether, in 
the root of the matter, we have advanced or receded. 
If in some respects our actions seem more trustvrorthy 
and based on broader and more reasonable principles, 
in other respects we seem to have grown more selfish 
and dishonest than men ever were before.^ It is only 
w^hen we pass from the actions of individual human 
beings to the consideration of the principles on which 
men are expected to act — the codes of duty and ideals 
of virtue which have grown up among us — that we 
gain any firm assurance of progress. When we reflect, 
however, that those higher conceptions of conduct 
which prevail among us could scarcely hold their 
ground if there were not some individuals who habitu- 
ally acted in accordance with them, we may be led to 
believe that even in the individual life there must on 
the whole have been a certain advancement. And, 
indeed, this conviction ought to be rather strengthened 
than otherwise by the recognition that, in our modern 
system of life, there are depths of degradation which 
to a ruder state of existence are scarcely known. 
Corruptio optimi pessima. The grass, as Mr. Ruskin 
somewhere remarks, is green every year : it is only the 
wheat that, on account of its higher nature, is liable 
to a blight. So, too, a mere animal is incapable of such 
a fall as we find in man. As Walt Whitman says, — 

" They do not sweat and whine about their condition, 
They do not he awake in the dark and weep for their sins, 
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God ; 
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented 



1 Cf. Marshall's Principles of Economics^ pp. 6—8 and 361. 



MORAL PROGRESS. 



399 



With the mania of owning things ; 

Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that Hved thousands 
of years ago ; 

Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth." 
All this is, no doubt, very creditable to the lower 
animals ; yet it need not induce us to envy their con- 
dition. Man s relative unhappiness, as Carlyle says, 
is due to his greatness. '^The assertion of our weak- 
ness and deficiency," as Emerson puts it, "is the fine 
innuendo by which the soul makes its enormous 
claim.'' ''A spark disturbs our clod and this dis- 
turbance brings with it the possibility of new forms of 
evil. Animals are not capable of the higher forms of 
sin. The advantages which I envy in my neighbour, 
the favour of society or of a particular person which I 
lose and he wins and which makes me jealous of him, 
the superiority in form or power or place of which the 
imagination excites my ambition — these would have 
no more existence for an agent not self-conscious, 
or not dealing with other self-conscious agents, than 
colour has for the blind."' So it is also, in some 
measure, with the growth of civilization. Knowledge 
is power for evil as well as for good. The depth of 
our Hell measures the height of our Heaven ; and w^hen 
we are conscious of special degradation and misery 
in the midst of a high civilization, we may reflect, with 
Milton's Satan, ''No wonder, fallen such a pernicious 
height." There seems, therefore, to be no real reason 

1 Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, p. 131. It should, however, in 
fairness be noted, that practically all the evils here alluded to are 
to be found in a rudimentary form even among the lower animals. 
What is peculiar to man is not so much the presence of new forms 
of evil as the clear consciousness that they are evil, and the conse- 
quent degradation in yielding to them. Still, it is also true that 
ciyilization creates more subtle forms of evil, 



400 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VIL 

for doubting that in the general improvement of the 
conditions of life there is also a certain moral advance.^ 
To the consideration of this advance we may now 
appropriately devote a few paragraphs. 

§ 2. The Moral Universe. — We have seen already 
that the moral life of an individual is lived within what 
may be described as a social or moral universe. Such 
a universe is constituted by various elements. It con- 
sists, on the one hand, of a moral ideal, generally 
recognized by the society in which the individual lives. 
This ideal may be expressed in a code of command- 
ments, in a series of injunctions, or in the form of a 
life which is set up as a model for our imitation. This 
is the ideal side of our moral universe. On the other 
hand, it consists of definite social institutions, such as 
we have referred to in Chapter II. Finally, it consists 
of certain habitual modes of action, acquired rather by 
half-unconscious imitation than by any distinct injunc- 
tions or efforts to copy an ideal pattern. In any given 
age and country these three elemicnts of a social 
universe will nearly always be found in some more or 
less fully developed form ; but often there is a very 
considerable divergence between the three. A people's 
ideal does not always bear a close resemblance to its 

i Even Carlyle partly admits this. See his Heroes and Hero-Wor- 
ship, Lect IV. " I do not make much of ' Progress of the Species ' 
as handled in these times of ours. . . . Yet I may say, the fact itself 
seems certain enough. . . . No man whatever believes, or can believe, 
exactly what his grandfather believed : he enlarges somewhat, by 
fresh discovery, his view of the Universe ; and consequently his 
Theorem of the Universe. ... It is the history of every man ; and in 
the history of mankind we see it summed up into great historical 
amounts — revolutions, new epochs. ... So with all beliefs whatso- 
ever in this world— all Systems of Belief and Systems of Practice that 
spring from these." 



§3.] 



MORAL PROGRESS. 



401 



institutions or its habits ; and sometimes even its habits 
are not entirely conformable to its institutions. A 
religion of peace and good-will has been found not 
incompatible with the thumb-screw and the torpedo ; 
and the existence of the monogamic family is not 
always a guarantee of social purity. A large part of 
the moral development of peoples consists in the effort 
to adjust these three elements to one another; though 
it also partly consists in the effort to elevate their ideas, 
and improve their institutions and habits. 

§ 3. IxxER Contradiction in our Universe. — The 
mere want of adjustment between the various elements 
in our moral universe is often of itself sufficient to 
suggest the need of a new ideal or of new institutions. 
Institutions to which men's habits cannot be adapted are 
soon felt to be unsatisfactory, and have to be abolished. 
This was largely true, for instance, of the institution of 
celibacy among the clergy in the middle ages. So, 
again, if our institutions and habits are in contradiction 
with our ideal, this will sometimes be the means of 
enabling us to see that our ideal is too narrow. The 
early Christian ideal has been in this way expanded by 
the absorption of elements derived from the Greeks 
and other pagan peoples. On the other hand, our 
habits may become gradually reformed, so as to adapt 
themselves to the institutions among which we live ; 
and our institutions may gradually be adjusted to our 
ideals. This is perhaps the more normal course of the 
two. Sometimes there is a crisis in a people's life, in 
which the question arises, whether the institutions are 
to be revolutionized or men's habits reformed. There 
seems to be such a crisis, for instance, at the present 
time with regard to our industrial system. 

£tk 26 



402 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VII. 



§ 4. Sense of Ixcompleteness. — Even apart, how- 
ever, from those contradictions within our universe 
which drive us forward by a kind of natural dialectic, 
there is also a tendency to progress in our habits, 
institutions, and ideals, due simply to our conscious- 
ness of their incompleteness. This incompleteness is 
often first brought to clear consciousness by some 
reformer who points out a certain want of logic in our 
present system. Such a reformer points out, for in- 
stance, that we habitually act in one way under certain 
circumstances, but in quite an opposite way under 
other circumstances, when there is no sufficient rea- 
son to account for the difference. He may point out 
inconsistencies, for instance, in the way in which men 
commonly treat their children, being sometimes cruel 
and sometimes over-indulgent. Or he may point out 
the difference between the morality recognized in the 
relations between countries in their negotiations with 
one another and that recognized in the relations 
between individuals, and may ask whether there is any 
adequate reason for this contrast. Or he may point to 
the pains inflicted on animals in certain processes of 
vivisection, or in various forms of the chase, or in 
slaughter-houses, or even in the ordinary use of animals 
as instruments of human service ; he may contrast this 
with the treatment accorded to human beings ; and 
may ask whether, seeing that in respect of the suffering 
of pain there appears to be no distinction between men 
and animals, there is any sufficient reason for tolerating 
in the case of animals what would not be tolerated in 
the case of men. Or, again, he may turn to the 
insiituHons of social life, as distinguished from its habits, 
and may call attention to anomalies in the govern- 



§ 5-] MORAL PROGRESS. 403 

ment of the country, in the regulation of family life, 
in the methods of industrial action, and in the various 
other organized forms in which the life of the com- 
munity is carried on. He may thus criticise these 
institutions by means of themselves, showing that the 
principles underlying them are incompletely carried 
out. He may ask, for instance, upon what recognized 
principle women are excluded from certain functions 
and privileges which are universally open to men. 
Finally, such a reformer, carrying his weapon of 
criticism still higher, may attack our ideals themselves. 
He may ask whether we are quite consistent in our 
ideas of what constitutes the highest kind of life. Is 
there not a certain narrowness about them? Do we 
not apply principles in one direction which we omit to 
extend in another? If we attach so much importance 
to the tithing of mint and cummin, should we not be 
at least equally careful about some other weightier 
matters of the law ? If the ideal man should be brave 
in battle and temperate in his food and drink, should 
he not also show fortitude under disaster and self- 
restraint in power? Such questions lead ^ to an 
extension of the conception of our duties and of the 
virtues which we ought to cultivate ; and this aspect 
of moral development is so important that it may be 
well to consider it a little more fully. 

§ 5. Deepening of Spiritual Life. — There is no re- 
spect in which moral progress can be more clearly 
seen than in the deepening views which men are led 
to take of the nature of the virtues and of the duties 

1 Through the force of persuasion. It is here that Mr. Alexander's 
view of Natural Selection in Morals " is in place. See above, pp, 
243-246. 



404 



ETHICSo [BK. III., CH. VII. 



that are required of them. This has been illustrated 
in a most masterly manner by Green in that- part of his 
Prolegomena to Ethics ^ in which he contrasts the Greek 
with the modern conceptions of virtue — perhaps the 
most original and suggestive chapter in the whole of 
that great work. He takes up the two most prominent 
of the personal virtues recognized by the Greeks, 
courage and temperance,^ and shows how in modern 
times both the range of their application has been ex- 
tended and the conception of the principle on which 
they rest deepened. With regard to temperance, for 
instance, he observes that the Greeks limited the ap- 
plication of this virtue to questions of food and drink 
and sexual intercourse ; whereas, in modern times, 
we apply it to various other forms of self-denial. He 
urges, moreover, that even with regard to those parti- 
cular forms of self-indulgence which the Greeks recog- 
nized as vicious, the principles on which they rested 
the claim for self-denial were not so deep as ours. 

Wepresentto ourselves,"as hesays,^ ''theobjects 
of moral loyalty which we should be ashamed to for- 
sake for our pleasures, in a far greater variety of forms 
than did the Greek, and it is a much larger self-denial 
which loyalty to these objects demands of us. It is 
no longer the State alone that represents to us the 
melior natura before whose claims our animal inclina- 
tions sink abashed. Other forms of association put 
restraints and make demands on us which the Greek 
knew not. An indulgence, which a man would other- 
wise allow himself, he foregoes in consideration of 

1 Book III., chap. v. 

2 Cf. also Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 225—8. 
s hoc. cit, p. 284, 



§50 



MORAL PROGRESS. 



40s 



claims on the part of wife or children, of men as such 
or women as such, of fellow-Christians or fellow-work- 
men, which could not have been made intelligible in 
the ancient world. ... It is certain that the require- 
ments founded on ideas of common good, which in 
our consciences we recognize as calling for the surrender 
of our inclinations to pleasure, are more far-reaching 
and penetrate life more deeply than did such require- 
ments in the ancient world, and that in consequence 
a more complete self-denial is demanded of us/' And 
Green goes on to add that even in respect of those 
aspects of life in which the Greeks did recognize the 
virtue of self-denial, their recognition is less complete 
and far-reaching than that of the moral consciousness 
in our own time. This is especially true with regard 
to self-denial in matters of sexual indulgence. And 
the change which has thus taken place in our moral 
consciousness does not mean merely that we have ex- 
tended the range within which certain virtues are ap- 
plicable. It involves also a deepening of our concep- 
tion of the principles on which the virtue rests. The 
principles from which it was derived" ^ by the Greek 
moralists, '''so far as they were practically available 
and tenable, seem to have been twofold. One was 
that all indulgence should be avoided which unfitted a 
man for the discharge of his duties in peace or war ; 
the other, that such a check should be kept on the lasts 
of the flesh as might prevent them from issuing in what 
a Greek knew as vi^p:^ — a kind of self-assertion and 
aggression upon the rights of others in respect of person 
and property, for which we have not an equivalent 
name, but which was looked upon as the antithesis of 
1 Loc, cit, p, 285. 



4o6 



ETHICS. [bK. hi., CH. VII. 



the civil spirit." Another prevalent notion among 
Greek philosophers was that the kind of pleasure with 
which temperance has to do is in some way unworthy 
of man, because one of which the other animals are 
susceptible/' ''Society was not in a state in which 
the principle that humanity in the person of every one 
is to be treated always as an end, never merely as a 
means, could be apprehended in its full universality ; 
and it is this principle alone, however it may be stated, 
which affords a rational ground for the obligation to 
chastity as we understand it. The society of modern 
Christendom, it is needless to say, is far enough from 
acting upon it, but in its conscience it recognizes the 
principle as it was not recognized in the ancient world. 
The legal investment of every one with personal rights 
makes it impossible for one whose mind is open to the 
claims of others to ignore the wrong of treating a woman 
as the servant of his pleasures at the cost of her own de- 
gradation. Though the wrong is still habitually done, 
it is done under a rebuke of conscience to which a 
Greek of Aristotle's time, with most women about him 
in slavery, and without even the capacity (to judge 
from the writings of the philosophers) for an ideal of 
society in which this should be otherwise, could not 
have been sensible. The sensibility could only arise 
in sequence upon that change in the actual structure of 
society through which the human person, as such, with- 
out distinction of sex, became the subject of rights." ' 
Thus we have here, not merely an extension of the 
range of the virtue, but also a deeper conception of 
the principle upon which it rests. And the same truth 
might be illustrated in the case of other virtues. The 
iLc^c, c//,p. 288. 



§6.] 



MORAL PROGRESS. 



407 



principle of the virtues, in fact, becomes universalized, 
and ceases to attach itself simply to this or that particular 
mode of manifestation. And along with this universa- 
lization there comes a deeper consciousness of the in- 
wardness of the virtuous life. So long as the virtues 
are connected only with particular modes of manifesta- 
tion in social life {e. g. courage with the activities of 
war), they seem to be little more than outer facts. 
When, on the other hand, we see that the essence of 
the virtues consists in the application of a certain prin- 
ciple, whatever may be the sphere in which it is ap- 
plied, we recognize at the same time that their essence 
lies rather in the attitude of the individual heart than 
in the particular forms of outv ard action. It is true 
that the Greeks were by no means ignorant of this 
essentially inward character of the virtues. They 
knew — /. e. their best thinkers knew — that the virtues 
are not virtues at all unless they are accompanied with 
purity of heart and will, unless they are done rcrj -Aahrj 
e>z/.a, for the sake of what is beautiful or noble. But 
the recognition of this has been very much deepened ^ 
by the growth of a clearer consciousness of the uni- 
versality of the principles on which the virtues rest. 

§ 6. New Obligatioxs. — In the preceding section we 
have seen that the deepening of the conception of the 
principle on which the virtues rest is accompanied by 
an extension of the sphere of their application. The 
expansion of our ideas of obligation Avhich takes place 
in this way is of a comparatively simple kind. We 

1 It seems to me that Green somewhat exaggerates the unity 
of sentiment on this point in the Greek and Christian moral con- 
sciousness, Ibid., p. 271 seq., p. 288, &c. But no doubt there is greater 
danger in unduly emphasizing the divergence between them. 



4o8 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VII. 



learn to recognize that what applies to the Greek ap- 
plies equally to the Barbarian, that what applies to the 
Jew applies equally to the Gentile, that what applies 
to men applies equally to women. But along with 
this expansion there is another of a less simple kind, 
by which we become aware of obligations that present 
themselves to our minds as new rather than as mere 
extensions of the old ones. Thus, when the Christian 
conception of man's nature and destiny was intro- 
duced, it seemed to bring with it an obligation of pro- 
pagandism which had not been felt in the same way 
before. The recognition of the infinite issues at stake 
in the moral regeneration of mankind, and of the in- 
terest in these issues which belongs to every individ- 
ual soul, rendered it an imperative obligation on those 
who accepted the Christian doctrine to endeavour, to 
the utmost of their power, to ''preach the Gospel to 
every creature.'' On the other hand, the knowledge 
which has been subsequently acquired of the gradual 
way in which the moral nature develops, has modified 
the obligation of preaching, and transformed it into 
the obligation to make intellectual and moral education 
universally accessible. Again, the knowledge that has 
recently been acquired of the relation between men 
and animals has led to a transformation of our view 
with regard to the way in which the latter ought to 
be treated. It would be going somewhat too far to 
describe this transformation by saying that we have 
extended to the lower animals the same conception of 
rights and obligations as we apply to men. In the 
case of some of the lower animals any such extension 
would be generally regarded as absurd; and even with 
respect to the highest of them, unless we allow that 



§ 6.] MORAL PROGRESS. 409 

they are self-conscious, rational beings, with a moral 
life like that of man (which even their best friends 
scarcely claim for them), we cannot acknowledge that 
they possess rights, in any strict interpretation of the 
term. All that we seem entitled to say is, that we 
have begun to recognize that the animal consciousness 
has a certain kinship with our own, that we can dis- 
cover in it traces of feelings, perceptions, and instincts 
that appear to be on the way towards the development 
of a moral life, and that consequently we feel bound 
to treat the animals, at least in their higher forms, in 
a way that is semi-human — in a way approximating 
to that in which we treat children, in whom also the 
moral consciousness, to which rights attach, is not 
fully developed.^ But the acknowledgment of our 
relationship has, in recent times, extended even further 
than this. Even with inanimate nature we have be- 
gun to recognize a certain kinship ; and this has given 
rise in some minds to a more or less vague sentiment 
that even natural scenery possesses a certain quasi- 
right to exist, and ought not to be wantonly outraged. 

In noticing such extensions of our obligations as 
these, it ought not to be denied that there are also 
some obligations of which we are apt to lose the con- 
sciousness. Thus, it has often been pointed out that, 
in more primative times, the consciousness of the 
mutual obligations of master and servant was much 
stronger than it is now. This must be fully admitted. 
At the same time it should be remembered that this 

1 1 need hardly say that I do not intend this passage to be taken 
as a complete discussion of this difficult question. The g^z/asZ-rights 
of children, for instance, must differ widely from those of the lower 
animals, inasmuch as the former are actually on the way to become 
rational, whereas the latter are not. 



410 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VII. 



partial obliteration of the consciousness of a duty is 
partly due to an extension of the sphere within which 
our obligations hold. The intensity of the personal 
relationship between master and servant (which, how- 
ever, is often greatly exaggerated) was due in part to 
the fact that no human obligation was acknowledged 
except what was due to that particular relationship. 
The servant was supposed to owe a debt of gratitude 
to his master for the protection and patronage vouch- 
safed to him.' The obligation recognized on the side 
of the master was, I am afraid, generally of a much 
vaguer character. Now, on the other hand, we recog- 
nize the obligation of man to man, as such, independ- 
ently of any special relationships. That this recogni- 
tion of a wider sphere of duty has practically weakened 
the narrower ties, seems to be partly true. It is 
always more difficult to act up to the requirements of 
a large obligation than to those of a small one. But 
this ought not to prevent us from perceiving that there 
has been a great extension of the sphere of acknow^- 
ledged duty. 

§ 7. Moral Change and Change of Environment. — 
The question is sometimes raised ^ whether the exten- 
sion which thus takes place in our view of moral 
obligation is in reality due to a development of our 
moral consciousness, or only to a change in our en- 
vironment. Thus, it may be urged that the emancipa- 
tion of slaves 3 in modern times may be accounted for 
by the general development of our industrial methods; 

1 C/. Buckle's History of Civilization, Vol. III., p. 325. See also 
above, pp. 304, note i, and 346, note i. 

2 Cf. Muir head's Elements of Ethics „ p. 229 seq. 

^ Cf. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, Book -III., chap. U. 



§7,] MORAL PROGRESS. 4II 



and it may be suggested that the attempt to rest the 
movement in this direction on general considerations 
of the rights of men is merely an illustration of the 
cant and hypocrisy of the modern age. Now it seems 
clear that the general recognition of the possibility of 
abolishing slavery (which Aristotle could not acknow- 
ledge), and with this the recognition of the duty of 
actually abolishing it, was really due to the develop- 
ment of economic conditions. And a similar remark 
would apply in most other cases in which an extension 
of recognized obligations occurs. It is so, for instance, 
also with the movement towards the emancipation of 
women. New industrial conditions have pushed for- 
ward the demand for it. But this fact need not in any 
way stumble us, or make us hesitate the more to be- 
lieve that there is a moral advance. Doubtless the 
moral life does not grow up in vacuo. It is relative 
throughout to the environment in which it is nurtured. 
It grows by the increase of our knowledge, by the in- 
crease of our power, by the increase of the possibilities 
of our action. The moral life is thus constantly being 
determined anew by the new conditions and combina- 
tions presented for solution, and by the new directions 
in which possible solutions appear.^ But its growth is 
not therefore the less real. Those who know anything 
of the spirit in which the emancipation of the slaves 
was carried out, must be well aware that, however 
true it may be that industrial conditions made it pos- 
sible, that industrial conditions first brought it to mens 
minds, and first won for it a general acceptance, how- 

1 The spirit of man " makes contemporary life the object on which 
it acts ; itself being the infinite impulse of activity to alter its forms." 
Hegel's Philosophy of History (English translation;, p. 215 



412 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VII. 



ever true it may even be that commercial and merely 
political motives weighed most strongly with the rank 
and file of those who fought for its accomplishment, 
yet the inspiration of the great leaders of the move- 
ment, without which the necessary self-sacrifice would 
never have been undergone, was at bottom purely 
moral. Mere external changes may bring the need of 
a moral reform to light ; but it is only in so far as they 
thus serve to awaken a moral consciousness that the 
world is moved by them. 

§ 8. The Ideal Universe. — The fact of moral progress 
causes it to be not entirely true that the good man, 
and especially the moral genius (who is generally at 
the same time a moral reformer), lives within a uni- 
verse constituted by actually existing habits and in- 
stitutions, or even by ideals that are definitely acknow- 
ledged at a given time and place. What is said of 
Abraham may be applied to the moral life generally. 
''By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out 
into a place which he should after receive for an in- 
heritance, obeyed ; and he went out, not knowing 
whither he went. . . . For he looked for a city which 
hath foundations, whose Builder and IMaker is God." 
The spirit of man, in its moral growth, looks continu- 
ally for such a city. It is continually moving about 
in worlds not realized.'' It is dissatisfied with the 
habits and institutions actually established at any time 
and place, and even with the ideals that are customa- 
rily recognized, and presses forward towards a form of 
life that shall be more complete, consistent, and satis- 
fying.^ Hence the perennial interest of Utopias and 

1 " That which gives life its keynote is, not what men think good, 
but what they think best. True, this is not the part of beUef which 



§8.] 



MOKAL PROGRESS. 



poetic dreams and anticipations of better modes of 
existence. The danger, in such dreams and anticipa- 
tions^ is that they are apt to represent only a partial 
and abstract phase in the development of life, and to 
involve some loss of hold upon its concrete content. 
In this sense, there is some truth in the saying that 
the world as a whole is wiser than its wisest men. 
The fresh intuitions of the prophets, who are as 
strangers and pilgrims on the earth, require to be re- 
interpreted in the light of the practical good sense of 
those who are at home on it. The prophetic seer is 
sometimes apt to be blinded by his own light, so that 
the rest of the world seems to him darkness. Hence 
the melancholy which Carlyle regarded as at the basis 

is embodied in conduct : the ordinary man tries to avoid only what 
is obviously wrong ; the best of men does not always make us 
aware that he is striving after what is right. We do not see people 
growing into the resemblance of what they admire ; it is much if 
we can see them growing into the unlikeness of that which they 
condemn. But the dominant influence of life lies ever in the un- 
realized. While all that we discern is the negative aspect of a 
man's ideal, that ideal itself lives by admiration w^hich never clothes 
itself in w^ord or deed. In seeing what he avoids we judge only 
the least important part of his standard ; it is that which he never 
strives to realize in his own person which makes him what he is. 
The average, secular man of to-day is a different being because 
Christendom has hallowed the precept to give the cloak to him 
who asks the coat ; it would be easier to argue that this claim for 
what most would call an impossible virtue has been injurious than 
that it has been impotent. Christianity has moulded character 
where we should vainly seek to discern that it has influenced con- 
duct. Not the criminal code, hut the counsel of perfection shows us 
what a nation is becoming; and he who casts on any set of duties 
the shadow of the second best, so far as he is successful, does more 
to influence the moral ideal than he w^ho succeeds in passing anew 
law." These suggestive, and even profound remarks are taken 
from Miss Wedgwood's work on The Moral Ideal (p. 373). The 
italics are mine. 



414 



ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VIL 



of all true insight — the pessimism and despair which 
cloud the consciousness, so long as it sees only the 
imperfection and incompleteness of all actual achieve- 
ment in the moral life, in contrast with the partial 
Pisgah-sight of something better to be attained; and 
does not yet perceive, what is often the deeper truth, 
that the germs of the better are already at work in the 
partly good, and may even be contained in what pre- 
sents itself at first as simply bad. 

The recognition, however, of this moral faith, this 
presence of the consciousness of an unattained and even 
unformulated ideal, leads us at once into the region of 
poetry and religion, which in a manner transcend 
morality. The consideration of these would carry us 
beyond our present subject ; but we may conclude 
with a chapter on the relationship between Ethics and 
Metaphysics, in which the place of religion will be in- 
cidentally referred to.' 

1 The whole subject of the present chapter is most admirably 
treated in Muirhead's Elements ofEthicSf Book V, 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 415 



CONCLUDING CHAPTER. 

ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 

§ 1. General Remarks. — It must be evident to the 
discerning reader that, in what has gone before, we 
have occasionally been skating on rather thin ice. The 
ultimate questions to which we have been led have 
not received any quite satisfactory solution. We have 
perhaps seen the insufficiency of all other theories of 
Ethics more fully than we have seen the sufficiency of 
that which we have been led to adopt. The truth is 
that the theory of Ethics which seems most satisfactory 
has a metaphysical basis, and without the considera- 
tion of that basis there can be no thorough understand- 
ing of it. If we could have satisfied ourselves with a 
Hedonistic theory, a psychological basis might perhaps 
have sufficed. On the other hand, if one of the current 
evolution theories could be accepted, we might look 
for our basis in the study of biology. But if we rest 
our view of Ethics on the idea of the development of 
the ideal self or of the rational universe, the significance 
of this cannot be made fully apparent without a meta- 
physical examination of the nature of the self; nor can 
its validity be established except by a discussion of the 
reality of the rational universe. Some further exami- 
nation of this point seems now to be demanded. 

§2. Validity of the Ideal. — The general result of 



4i6 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



our inquiry may be summed up as follows. We have 
seen that the moral consciousness presents itself first 
of all in the form of law, a supreme command or cate- 
gorical imperative imposed on the will of the individual. 
Hence, when reflection begins on the nature of morality, 
the first theory which presents itself is one that con- 
ceives of it as an absolute law of Duty. But this 
breaks down, because, as we have seen, when this 
idea is carefully analyzed, it is found to yield no con- 
tent. The next form in which the idea of morality 
presents itself is that of the Good ; and this is naturally 
thought of at first simply as that which satisfies desire, 
i, e. as the pleasant. But the pleasant is formless, just 
as the law of Duty is empty ; and we are thus led to look 
for a more adequate conception of the Good. This is 
found in the idea of the complete realization of the 
essential nature of mankind. But in order to under- 
stand this, it is necessary to study the nature of man- 
kind in its concrete development. Accordingly, we 
have been led to notice, in a brief and summary fashion, 
the ways in which the realization of humanity may 
be regarded as accomplishing itself through the various 
institutions of social life, through the duties and virtues 
w^hich grow up in connection with these, through the 
growth of the inner life of the individual, and through 
the progressive development of human history. 
Through these various activities mankind may be seen 
to be gradually attaining to that complete rationality 
which can only be reached through the complete 
grasping of the world of experience, and bringing it 
into intelligible relationship to ourselves. This process 
cannot be seen to complete itself within the actual 
moral life of mankind ; and the ideal involved in the 



§3.] 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



moral life is consequently unfulfilled. Life remains at 
the best incomplete — a noble work, it may be, but a 
torso. Now this incompleteness in the concrete reali- 
zation of the moral ideal brings with it the further de- 
fect that the validity of the moral ideal is not fully 
made apparent in the course of its concrete realization. 
If mankind could be supposed actually to attain that 
complete development of human faculty, that complete 
bringing of the world into intelligible and harmonious 
relationship to the human consciousness, at which we 
may be said to aim, the result would no doubt be seen 
to be so satisfying in itself that it would be impossible 
to question the validity of the ideal as an object of 
human effort. But this complete justification is not 
possible so long as the process is not fully worked out. 
Now it is this insufficiency in the moral life that leads 
us to the point of view of religion : and perhaps some 
consideration of the latter may enable us to see more 
clearly the nature of the ultimate problem which is in- 
volved in the moral consciousness. 

§ 3. Morality and Religion. — ^Matthew Arnold, as 
is well known, defined religion as ''morality touched 
with emotion." '''This/' remarks ]\Ir. Muirhead,^ 
"does not carry us far. Emotion is not a distinctive 
mark of religious conduct. All conduct . . . is touched 
with emotion, otherwise it would not be conduct at 
all.'' This criticism is perhaps not entirely fair. All 
conduct is in a sense touched with emotion — /. e. it 
involves an element of feeling. So does all conscious 
life. But this need not prevent us from distinguishing 
between emotional and unemotional acts and states. 
In ordinary life the element of feeling is to all intents 
1 Elements of Ethics, p. 180. 



4i8 



ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH. 



in abeyance. It influences us quietly, but does not 
rise into prominence. We do what is in harmony with 
our habits and convictions ; we shun what is in dis- 
cord with them : but our attention is not specially 
directed to the agreeableness of the one or the disagree- 
ableness of the other. The one does not thrill us, and 
the other does not jar upon us or shock us. This is 
the case so long as we are living steadily within the 
universe to which we have become habituated. And 
we are so living throughout the greater part of that 
conduct which we describe as moral. Even the saint 
or hero may perform saintly or heroic acts with no 
consciousness that he is doing anything particular, 
and consequently with no sense either of harmony 
disturbed or of harmony restored. The more entirely 
he is absorbed in his work, the more likely is this to 
be the case. Still more is it the case that the ''good 
neighbour" and the ''honest citizen" go about their 
avocations, for the most part, with no particular stir- 
rings of the breast. On the other hand, Matthew 
Arnold was probably so far in the right, that the reli- 
gious attitude, as distinguished from the simply moral, 
is at least generally characterized (as is also the artistic) 
by a more or less distinctly marked emotion. Still, I 
agree with Mr. Muirhead in thinking that Matthew 
Arnolds definition is inadequate, and this for more 
reasons than one. 

In the first place, although it seems an exaggeration 
to say that all conduct is in any special sense char- 
acterized by emotion, yet conduct is frequently emo- 
tional without being, in any ordinary sense of the term, 
reliofious. Conduct becomes emotional vrhenever our 
attention is strongly directed to some end, affected by 



§3.] 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



419 



our conduct, which we have come to regard as su- 
premely important. Now this end may or may not be 
of such a kind as we ordinarily designate religious. In 
a hotly-contested poHtical election, a man may perform 
his duty as a citizen under a strong emotional influence, 
which in some cases has been so powerful as to pro- 
duce death. Yet we should scarcely say that his con- 
duct is more religious than that of the good workman 
who carefully finishes his job, without feeling that 
anything particular is at stake. Or again, when one 
of the parents of a large family suddenly dies, leaving 
the whole responsibility on the shoulders of the other, 
the sense of this new responsibility, in a conscientious 
person, will generally cause the ordinary duties of the 
family to be, for some time at least, performed with 
a keener feeling than before of the issues that are at 
stake. Yet wc should scarcely say that it is thereby 
rendered more religious. The truth is that the emo- 
tional quality of our actions depends largely on the 
question whether they are habitual acts, acts that 
belong to the ordinary universe within which we live, 
or whether we are rising into an unfamiliar universe. 
Now it may be readily granted that religion, in any 
real sense of the word, can hardly be made so habi- 
tual as not to involve some uplifting of the soul, some 
withdrawal from the point of view of ordinary life to a 
more comprehensive or more profound apprehension 
of the world and of our relations to it. Hence it can 
hardly fail to involve emotion. Even the Amor inteU 
leciualis Dei of Spinoza, however purely intellectual it 
may be, is still amor. But conduct may involve strong 
and deep emotion and yet not be specially religious. 
But, in the second place, Matthew^ Arnold's definition 



420 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



seems to err not merely by including much which 
would not, in any ordinary sense, be regarded as re- 
ligion, but also by excluding much which would 
naturally fall under that category. Some religions 
have scarcely any direct bearing on the moral life. 
Even the religion of the Greeks, one of the most beauti- 
ful and typical of all religions, was largely a worship 
of the powers of nature. Their gods were not con- 
spicuously respectable ; and though in an indirect way 
they had an ennobling influence on Greek life, yet they 
were not consciously set up as models of moral conduct, 
nor did the worship of them involve any direct incite- 
ment to virtue. They did indeed, stand to some ex- 
tent as representations of the social bond ; so that to 
violate social order was to offend against the gods of 
the society. But this was not perhaps their most pro- 
minent characteristic. And the same is true of many 
other forms of religion.' It cannot, therefore, be said 
that religion is always to be regarded as immediately 
connected with the moral life. 

§ 4. The Relation of Religion to Art, — The connec- 
tion of religion with Ethics, in fact, appears to be very 
similar to the connection of art with Ethics ; ^ and we 

1 E. g., the Scandinavian. The rehgion of the Romans, on the 
other hand, was strongly moral {Cf, Froude's Ccesar, p. 12). No 
doubt, even the Scandinavian and early German mythologies con- 
tained some strongly-marked ethical traits : Cf. Carlyle's Heroes and 
Hero-Worship, stci. I., and Prof. Pfleiderer's article on "The Na- 
tional Traits of the Germans as seen in their Religion," in the Inter- 
national Journal of Ethics for October, 1892 (vol. iii., No. i, pp. 2—7). 

2 A chapter dealing with this subject, which appeared in the earlier 
edition of this Manual, has been omitted, partly from want of space, 
and partly because it was felt that the treatment of such a subject in 
a handbook like this is necessarily too slight to be of any value. 
The remarks in the present chapter will probably be found suffi- 



§ 4.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 42I 

may understand the connection better by noticing the 
relation of art to religion. Carlyle was fond of remind- 
ing us of the connection between the terms ''Worship 
and Worthship/' What we worship is what we re- 
gard as havmg supreme worth or value. Religion, in 
short, like art, is concerned with ideals. But while the 
ideals of art are beautiful objects that yield an imme- 
diate satisfaction, the ideals of religion are rather objects 
that are regarded as having supreme and ultimate 
worth. In their immediate aspect they may have ''no 
beauty that we should desire them." For the same 
reason the ideals of religion must be regarded as true. 
Art, aiming at an immediate satisfaction, may be partly 
dream. No doubt, if it is to be great art, it must keep 
close to reality ; and even its most imaginative crea- 
tions must express some inner truth in nature or in 
morals. Indeed, in its highest forms art approaches 
very closely to religion. But still it is never necessary 
that the creations of art should be absolutely true. It 
is enough that they should be beautiful suggestions of 
truth. Even in the highest regions of art, such a work 
as Shakespeare's Tempest has no literal truth. There 
are no Calibans or Ariels ; nor is it necessary for our 
appreciation of the play that we should actually believe 
that there are any. We can feel the whole beauty of 
it, and yet be well aware that all the creations in it are 
"such stuff as dreams are made of." Religion, on the 
other hand, gives us ideals which are regarded as 
realities, and even as the most real of things. The 
Homeric gods, as depicted in the poems, are poetic 
creations ; and there is no necessity for supposing 

ciently intelligible without reference to the prehminary chapter on 
Art. 



422 



ETHICS. [concluding CH, 



them to be anything but dreams — significant dreams, 
no doubt, but still dreams. As worshipped by the 
Greek people, on the other hand, the gods were neces- 
sarily regarded as realities. Hegel, indeed, has con- 
trasted the Greek with the Christian religion, by saying 
that the gods of the former were mere creations of the 
imagination.-^ This is partly true. The Greeks were 
an artistic much more than a religious people ; and 
their gods never became, in any complete sense, 
definitely established objects of belief. But just to this 
extent they remained poetry rather than religion. So 
also in the Christian religion there are many mythical 
elements which have been made subjects of poetry 
and of various forms of artistic representation. We 
may admire the paintings of Jesus and of the Virgin, 
and feel an artistic pleasure in the contemplation of 
them, without believing that they are anything more 
than beautiful dreams. ^ But the man who takes Jesus 

1 See Wallace's Logic of Hegel, p, 233. 

2 No doubt there are stages of human development at which the 
distinction here indicated is scarcely perceived. To the Greeks, for 
instance, Homer supplied poetry, philosophy, and religion all in 
one. And so, no doubt, it was to some extent in the great ages of 
Mediaeval art. At such periods the significance of art for a nation's 
life is much greater than it is after the three provinces have been 
more rigidly divided. " However excellent," says Hegel, " we think 
the statues of the Greek gods, however nobly and perfectly God the 
Father and Christ and Mary may be portrayed, it makes no differ- 
ence, our knees no longer bend." See Bosanquet's History of 
Esthetic, p. 344, and cf. Caird's Hegel, pp. 111-12. Of course, the 
clearer distinction in modern times between art and philosophy or 
religion need not in the end cause our art to be less perfect or less 
serious than that of the ancient world. For we may s^ill recognize 
that art is the best expression of all that is deepest in philosophy 
and religion. But it is necessarily dethroned from its former unique 
position. Homer and Dante may have been treated as authorities ; 



5.] 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



as a supreme object of worship necessarily regards him 
as real and as the greatest of realities. 

§ 5. The Necessity of Religion. — Religion, being 
thus akin to art, is related to Ethics in somewhat the ^ 
same way as art is. It carries us, in a sense, beyond 
the moral life, by raising us to the idea of a sphere of 
attainment beyond the sphere of mere struggle. And 
this it does, not, like art, in the way of hint and sug- 
gestion, but rather in the way of definite conviction. 
Such convictions are a necessity of man's life — a neces- 
sity partly intellectual and partly moral. ^ Both on the 
intellectual and on the moral side this necessity may 
be said to arise from a consciousness of the incom- 
pleteness and inadequacy of our experience. On the 
purely intellectual side this presents itself as a feeling 
of wonder at the inexplicable in nature. Out of this 
wonder, as Plato taught, all science arises. But the 
imagination outruns science, and creates explanations 
for itself; and even after science has done its best, 
there remains a sense of unexplained mystery into 
which we still seek to press. On the moral side, in 
like manner, there is a sense of inadequacy in our 
ordinary experience — a want of completeness in our 
lives, a want of poetic justice in our fates. It is chiefly 
on this side that religion touches on Ethics. But even 
the demand for intellectual explanation expresses a 
moral need. It is the desire to be at home within our 
universe, and not to be confronted at every turn with 
alien mysteries. In an unintelligible world we could 

Shakespeare and Goethe are regarded only as exponents and illustra- 
tors. But perhaps they have gained in breadth what they have lost 
in height. Cf. Bosanquet, op. cit, p. 469. 
1 See Caird's Philosophy of Religion, chap. iv. 



424 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



not lead a moral life, because we should not know 
what ends to propose to ourselves, or how to set about 
realizing them.^ Hence even when the imagination 
constructs myths to explain the formation of the clouds 
or the motion of the sun, it is indirectly serving m^o- 
rality. It save us from that prosaic abandonment in 
v/hich the higher life expires — that state in which as 
Wordsworth complains, Little we see in nature that 
is ours.'' Natural religions, like that of the Greeks, 
save us in some measure from this. They enable us 
in the presence of nature to 

" Have glimpses that may make us less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn." 

Even here, then, the religious imagination comes to 
the aid of the moral life. Still, it is chiefly in so far 
as it supplies a relief from the inadequacy of the moral 
life itself that religion touches on Ethics. On this 
aspect we must now look a little more closely. 

§ 6. The Failure of Life. — Those who fix their at- 
tention on the lives of individuals have always suf- 
ficient ground for Pessimism. Even the most favoured 
human beings attain only a small part of what they 
hope ; and what they hope is generally but a small 
part of what they would wish to be able to hope. 
And a large proportion of the human race scarcely 
seem to get the length of hope at all. Nor is it merely 

1 It is chiefly for this reason that intellectual scepticism is apt to 
have a detrimental effect on the moral life. This effect was strongly 
insisted on by Plato, and, in more recent times, by Carlyle. Descartes 
also, in the pursuit of his intellectual scepticism, felt the need of 
guarding himself against its moral accompaniment. See his Z)/s- 
cotirse of Method, Part HI. Burke also emphasized this point 



§ ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 425 

that the average individual does not get so much out 
of life as he could wish. The apparent unfairness of 
fate is equally galling. Sometimes the sight of the 
wicked flourishing ''like the green bay tree '' offends 
the moral sense even more than the failures of the 
righteous ; and this not from envy, but from a sense 
of injustice. 

§ 7. The Failure of Society. — Some consolation 
may be found, indeed, for the failure of the individual 
life in the confidence that society at least goes on ad- 
vancing. But the progress of society can scarcely 
be regarded as compensating for individual failure. 
Society is not an entity apart from the individuals who 
compose it ; and if the individuals fail, society cannot 
have wholly succeeded. It might be argued, indeed, 
that it is moving towards success, towards some ''far- 
off divine event." Still no such event could be morally 
satisfactory if it were reached, so to speak, by tramp- 
ling over the fallen bodies of generations of men who 
'* all died not having received the promises.''^ And 
even the poor comfort that society advances, does not 
seem an altogether certain hope. In nearly all ages 
wise men have been inclined to think that they and 
their generation were no better than their fathers ; 
and even if we can on the whole trace a line of 
progress through the lives of nations, "yet progress 
has many receding waves,'' ^ and in nearly every case 
it seems to be followed in the end by a period of cor- 

1 This point is strikingly emphasized in Prof. A. Seth's pamphlet 
on The Present Position of the Philosophical Sciences, near the end. 
Cf. also his Hegelianism and Personality, p. 228. With much of 
what is said in both these places, however, I do not agree. 

2 Sorley's Ethics of Naturalism, p. 272. 



426 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



ruption and decline. And even such progress as there 
is, appears only to lead in an asymptotical way to 
the goal that we hope for. The highest civilizations 
that have ever been achieved, have been accompanied 
by corrupting luxury on the one hand and degrading 
toil and misery on the other ; and there has never 
been a time at which the most deeply moral natures 
have not been made to feel that, in some important 
respects, the world was out of joint, and that neither 
they nor any others were born to set it right. Is there, 
it may well be asked, any sober and certain ground for 
supposing that it will ever be otherwise? If not, we 
must regard society as having failed, just as, for the 
most part, the individual life is perceived to fail. 

§ 8. The Failure of Art. — Conscious of the failure 
of life and society, many of the finest natures have 
taken refuge in art. Matthew Arnold, in one of the 
most striking of his poems, ^ represents Goethe as 
turning from the vain strife of his age, after having ex- 
posed its weaknesses, and proclaiming to his contem- 
poraries as their last resort — Art still has truth, take 
refuge there." And indeed in the same poem Matthew 
Arnold describes the message of Wordsworth to his 
generation, though in very different language, as 
being yet substantially the same. Seeing the folly 
and confusion of the actual world around him, he 
taught his age to set it aside, and seek relief in feel- 
ing. But this is a somewhat treacherous refuge. 

Art for Art's sake" is a shallow doctrine at the best.^ 
It is true in a sense that art is play. Ernst ist das 

1 Memorial Verses. 

8 See Bosanquet's History of /Esthetic, p. 457. 



8.] 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



427 



Lthen, heiter ist die Kunst^ Men may seek a tem- 
porary relief in it from the struggle of life ; and it 
may be a not unworthy commendation to say of a 
great poet — 

" The cloud of mortal destiny, 
Others will front it fearlessly — 
But who, like him, will put it by ? " 

But even this service can be rendered to us by art 
only so long as it is believed by us to be a revelation 
of a deeper truth in things. ^ If it is taken merely as 
art, merely as a beautiful dream, it sinks into play, 
becomes a mere refined amusement, and loses all its 
real power over the human spirit. ^ There could 
hardly be any worse sign of an age than that it 
regards art as a mere amusement, as a mere escape 
from the graver problems of life. In the great ages 
of art, there has always been a faith behind the art — 
a belief that it symbolizes truths that are eternal, and 
that can be expressed, though with an unspeakable 
loss of adequacy and completeness, in sober prose ^ as 
well as in the form of artistic dreams. Their art was, 
indeed, in a sense, play ; but it was a playful mode 
of giving utterance to the exuberance of a nation's 
faith, and as such it had the highest beauty and value. 

1 " Life is serious, art is joyous."— Schiller. C/. Bosanquet's His- 
tory of Esthetic, p. 296. 

2 On the relation of Beauty to Truth, see Caird's Essays on Litera- 
ture and Philosophy, vol. i., pp. 54-65, 151-154, &c. ; and cf. Bosan- 
quet's History of /Esthetic, pp. 336, 458-460, &c. 

8 " We cannot give the name of sacred poet to the ' idle singer of 
an empty day,' but only to him who can express the deepest and 
widest interests of human life." — Caird, loc. cit., p. 154, Cf. also 
Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 465-6. 

* Dante actually gave a prose interpretation of his Divine Comedy* 



428 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



But as a desperate escape from scepticism it could have 
no such worth. Its dreams, if they were supposed to 
be altogether unreal, would only make the emptiness 
of life the more conspicuous.^ We might still feel that 
they were beautiful ; but it would be like the beautify- 
ing of a sepulchre full of dead men's bones. The soul 
would have gone out of them. 

§ 9. The Demand for the Infinite. — ' 'Man's Unhap- 
piness/' says Carlyle, ''comes of his greatness. It is 
because there is an Infinite in him which with all his 
cunning he cannot quite bury under the finite." The 
ideal unity of our self-consciousness demands a per- 
fectly harmonious and intelligible universe ; and this 
cannot be found so long as we see the world in its 
finite aspect, as a series of isolated events set over 
against each other. Art partly breaks down this 
finitude, and lets us see the infinite significance of it 
shining through. ^ But it does this in a form that is 
not quite adequate to the truth — a form that is partly 
playful ; and we return from its ideals to the actual 

1 Some suggestive remarks on the possibility of making art a sub- 
stitute for religion will be found in Duhring's Erzatz der Religion, 
pp. 106-111. See also Caird's Hegely pp. 37-8. 

2 Carlyle says {Heroes and Hero-Worship, Lect. III.) that music 
is " a kind of inarticulate unfathomable speech, which leads us to 
the edge of the Infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into that." 
Cf. also Caird's Hegel, pp. 112-114; and see the passage quoted 
from Hegel in Bosanquet's History of Esthetic, p. 361. " For in art 
we have to do with no mere toy of pleasure or of utility, but with 
the liberation of the mind from the content and forms of the finite, 
with the presence and union of the Absolute within the sensuous 
and phenomenal, and with an unfolding of truth which is not ex- 
hausted in the evolution of nature, but reveals itself in the world- 
history, of which it constitutes the most beautiful aspect and the best 
reward for the hard toil of reahty and the tedious labours of know- 
ledge," 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



4^9 



world with all our discontent again — sometimes, in- 
deed, with our discontent deepened and intensified. 
Art reaches its intuitions of truth, as Browning put it, 
*^at first leap ; and often, when reflection supervenes, 
we find that what we have received is not a solution 
of our problems, but at most the suggestion of a solu- 
tion. What we require is an ideal which shall at the 
same time be absolutely real. 

§ 10. The Two Ixfixites. — Now there are two main 
forms in which we become aware of the infinite as a 
reality within our experience — what we may call the 
purely intellectual form and the moral form. These 
two are well expressed by Kant in a familiar passage, 
in which he states the two great objects of reverence.' 
''Two things fill the mind with ever new and increas- 
ing admiration and awe, the oftener and the more 
steadily we reflect on them : the starry heavens above 
and the inoral laiv ivithin, I have not to search for 
them and conjecture them as though they were veiled 
in darkness or were in the transcendent region beyond 
my horizon ; I see them before me and connect them 
directly with the consciousness of my existence. The 
former begins from the place I occupy in the external 
world of sense, and enlarges my connection therein to 
an unbounded extent with worlds upon worlds and sys- 
tems of systems. . . . The second begins from my in- 
visible self, miy personality, and exhibits me in a world 
which has true infinity, but which is traceable only by 
the understandino;, and with which I discern that I am 

1 Conclusion of Criiique of Practical Reason 'Abbott's translation), 
p. 260, Cf. also Janet's TJicory of Morals, Book III., chap, xii., where 
the whole subject of the relation of Ethics to Religion is treated in 
a suggestive way. 



430 



ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH. 



not in a merely contingent but in a universal and nec- 
essary connection. . . . The former view of a countless 
multitude of worlds annihilates as it were my import- 
ance as an animal creature, which after it has been for 
a short time provided with vital power, one knows not 
how, must again give back the matter of which it was 
formed to the planet it inhabits (a mere speck in the 
universe). The second, on the contrary, infinitely 
elevates my worth as an intelligence by my person- 
ality, in which the moral law reveals to me a life in- 
dependent on animality and even on the whole sen- 
sible world, at least so far as may be inferred from 
the destination assigned to my existence by this law, a 
destination not restricted to conditions and limits of 
this life, but reaching into the infinite." These two 
reverences, separately or in combination, may be said 
to furnish the basis of religious worship. When the 
first is taken alone, it gives rise to Pantheism or to 
Agnosticism : when the second is taken alone, it gives 
rise to Monotheism or to the Religion of Humanity. 
When the two are combined, we have a more com- 
plete form of religion. 

§ 11. The First Religion. — The first form of reve- 
rence, then, in which the demand for the infinite is 
recognized, is the worship of Nature in the boundless- 
ness of its extent and power. In its crudest form this 
religion is summed up in the saying that All is God.'' 
This form of worship rises very naturally in our minds 
when we are brought face to face with the great 
elemental forces of nature. What is man," we are 
then tempted to exclaim, ''that he should be put in 
comparison with the infinity of the material universe ! " 
This point of view is materialistic, and is scarcely dis- 



§ 12.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 43! 



tinguishable from Atheism. It is, however, a super- 
ficial view. The infinity which is reached by the mere 
adding on of an endless number of parts is what Hegel 
"galled the bad infinite. " Such an infinity is in no 
way more satisfying to our minds than the finite is. 
The mere fact that we cannot get to an end of a thing 
does not add anything to its value. The blank empti- 
ness of space, for instance, has no worth for us. The 
deeper Pantheism is distinguished from this superficial 
one, in that its meaning is summed up, not in the say- 
ing that ''All is God," but that God is all'W. e. that 
the finite world is an unreality, and that the ultimate 
reality is the spiritual power behind it. This view is 
developed, with great force and suggestiveness, in the 
Eihics of Spinoza.^ Since, however, it rests on the 
mere negation of the finite, it ends either in the asser- 
tion of blank nothingness as the ultimate reality (the 
Nirvana of the Buddhists), or in the assertion of some 
ultimate reality of which nothing can be known (the 
Unknowable of Mr. Herbert Spencer). This infinity of 
emptiness is in the end quite as unsatisfactory (both 
from an intellectual and from a moral point of view) as 
the infinity of an inexhaustible aggregate. 

§ 12. The Second Religion. — The second religion is 
the worship of the moral law in the absoluteness of its 
authority. In order, however, that this may be made 
an object of reverence, it requires to be regarded as 
embodied in some concrete form. The simplest form 
is that of a supreme Law-giver, as in the religion of 
the Jews. The unsatisfactoriness of this view arises 
from the fact that such a Law-giver has to be thought 
of as external to that to which he gives the law. He 

1 There is, however, another side to the doctrine of Spinoza, which 



432 



ETHICS. [concluding CH, 



deals with a refractory material. He requires, there- 
fore, to be thought of as in some sense finite, ^ being 
limited by a world outside. Accordingly, this view 
leads readily to Manicheism, the belief in an infinite 
Devil as well as an infinite God. Other methods of 
escape a^e (i) to say frankly, like J, S. Mill, that God 
is not infinite at all,^ which deprives us of that supreme 
satisfaction which the infinite alone can give; or (2) to 
abandon the idea of a personal God, and assert only a 
progressive realization of the moral ideal. This latter 
resource appears in the Religion of Humanity, insti- 
tuted by Auguste Comte,^ in which the human race as 
a whole is represented as a Great Being struggling for- 
ward against the opposing tendencies of an unintelli- 
gent and unintelligible nature. A similar view is to be 
found in Matthew Arnold's idea of a ''Power, not our- 
selves, that makes for righteousness.'' The inherent 
weakness of any such position is that it leaves an ir- 
reconcilable dualism in our world. Evil is left unac- 
counted for, and we have no assurance that it will be 
finally overcome with good. 

§ 13. The Third Religion. — It is one of the supreme 
merits of the Christian religion that it combines these 
two infinites so completely. The God of Christianity 
is conceived at once as the infinite Power revealed in 
nature, and as the source and end of the moral ideal. It 

is even more important and characteristic, and which brings it into 
connection rather with the moral point of view, referred to in the 
next section. The same may be said of Buddhism. 

1 In which case this view w^ould become identical with Mill's. 

2 A similar view is developed in a recent book entitled Riddles of 
the Sphinx. 

3 For an account and criticism of this, see Caird's Social Philoso- 
fhy and Religion ofComte, 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



433 



enables men to see in the world outside them the work- 
ing out of their own moral aspirations,^ to believe that 
''morality is the nature of things/' and to have con- 
fidence, not indeed that whatever is, is right/' but 
that ''whatever is right, is" — e. as Carlyle put it, 
that '^ the soul of the world is just," that in the last 
resort "the Good'' (in Plato's phrase) is the only- 
reality. Other religions have partly contained this 
same inspiring faith ; but Christianity seems to bring it 
out most clearly. 

§ 14. Religion and Superstition. — It has been fre- 
quently noted that ages of religious faith tend to be 
rapidly followed by times of doubt and disbelief. The 
cause of this is not far to seek. The religious imagina- 
tion, as we have already remarked, in its effort after 
a final explanation of the mysteries of things, outruns 
science. It cannot wait for the plodding processes 
of reasoning and verification. But these come after- 
wards ; and when they come, they generally find that 
the kernel of religious truth has been hastily wrapped 
up in a husk of superstition. The religions of the 
world have grown out of the buoyant faith of some 
imaginative and impassioned natures. To the founders 
of them they have nearly always been an inextricable 
blending of truth and poetry. ^ Those who came after 

1 Beautifully expressed by Browning — Epistle from Karsliish— 

" So through the darkness comes a human voice, 
Saying— O heart I made, a heart beats here,' " &c. 

2 /. €. their meaning takes the form of an image, which for them 
is inseparable from the meaning. As the Germans say, the Begriff 
(/. e. the conception or meaning) appears in the form of a VorstcUung 
(imaginative representation). Cf. Wallace's Logic of Hcgcl (First 
Edition), pp. i-2, and Ixxxvii — IxxsKx. 

Eth. 28 



434 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



them have seldom been able to catch just that point of 
view at which insight passed into beauty. The poetry- 
evaporates, and the truth does not remain. The happy- 
intuition becomes a miserable creed ; and the beautiful 
images that clustered round it turn into the spectres of 
superstition. Then, as soon as another man of real 
insight arises, the hollowness of the dogma is revealed, 
and with this revelation the entire religion appears to 
be exploded. The gods before which the rapt adora- 
tion of saint and poet once knelt become mere names 
that serve perhaps only to give gusto to an oath. 

§ 15. The Ethical Significance of Religion. — What 
remains essential in religion, however, is the convic- 
tion of the reality of the moral life ; and this convic- 
tion it is which metaphysics is required to justify. In 
other words, it has to justify the belief that the moral 
life is worth living. From a practical point of view we 
may say no doubt that such a justification is hardly re- 
quired. It is the faith which is inevitably involved in 
life itself, just as in science there is involved the faith 
that the world can be seen as an intelligible system. 
In a stirring article entitled ''Is Life worth Living.?" 
Professor James remarks — ''If this life be not a real 
fight, in which something is eternally gained for the 
universe by success, it is no better than a game of 
private theatricals from which one may withdraw 
at will. But it feels like a real fight ; " and he con- 
cludes by urging that our attitude on this matter is 
necessarily one of faith. "Believe," he says, "that 
life is worth living, and your belief will half create the 
fact The 'scientific proof that you are right may 
not be clear before the day of judgment (or some stage 
of Being which that expression may serve to symbolize) 



ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



435 



is reached. But the faithful fighters of this hour, or the 
beings that then and there will represent them, may- 
then turn to the faint-hearted, who here decline to go 
on, with words like those with which Henry IV. 
greeted the tardy Crillon after a great victory had been 
gained : * Hang yourself, Crillon ! we fought at Arques, 
and you were not there/ " 

The belief, then, that the moral life is in this sense 
real may be said to be the essential significance of 
religion ; and without some such belief the moral life 
is hardly possible at all. In all spheres of thought, 
however, the human intellect demands proof; and the 
proof of this particular point can only be found in 
metaphysics. 

§ 16. The Ultimate Problems of Metaphysics. — We 
thus see how it is that the science of Ethics is incom- 
plete in itself, and stretches out its hands to metaphysics. 
But in a sense this is true of all science, and we may 
even say, of all art. All positive science rests on 
the belief that the world can be seen as an intelligible 
system, and this belief cannot be justified except by 
metaphysical inquiry. All fine art, in like manner, at 
least in its higher and more serious forms, may be said 
to rest upon the conviction that Beauty is Truth," that 
the point of view from which the beautiful is appre- 
hended is a point of view which grasps a more essen- 
tial form of actuality than that which appears in mere 
existence. Similarly, the moral point of view involves 
the conviction that Good is more real than Evil, that 
the moral ideal has a higher actnality ^ than the exist- 

1 In so far as such a point of view as that here indicated can be 
adopted, the Ideal becomes transformed into the Idea (in the sense 
in which that term was used by Plato and Hegel)—/, e. instead of 



436 



ETHICS. [concluding CH. 



ing world as it appears to the ordinary consciousness 
of mankind. 

How this can be established by metaphysical reflec- 
tion it is not our business here to inquire. It may be 
possible, as in the system of Hegel, to show that *'the 
actual is rational, and the rational is actual ; " or again, 
it may only be possible, as in the view of Bradley, to 
show that the moral point of view contains a higher 
''degree of reality " than that to which it is opposed. 
Or it may be that we are left in a purely agnostic posi- 
tion. Such questions could not be answered here 
except in a purely dogmatic fashion, and a dogmatic 
answer is of course worse than none. It is enough for 
us to have indicated where the ultimate problem lies ; 
and to have shown that Ethics, regarded as a separate 
science, is not complete in itself.^ 

being thought of teleologically, as the end or standard by which we 
are guided in the realization of the moral life, it would be regarded 
rather as the underlying principle by w^hich reality itself is deter- 
mined, in the process by which its inner significance is gradually 
unfolded. Thus, from the point of view of religion, or of a meta- 
physical system such as that of Plato or Hegel, the distinction 
between the Ideal and the Actual vanishes. The term Idea, ex- 
presses in this sense (which must be carefully distinguished from 
its use by Descartes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, &c.), the point of 
view from which this transcendence of the opposition takes place. 
But it would obviously be far beyond the scope of such a work as 
this to consider whether this point of view can be justified. It would 
require a complete metaphysical system to deal with it. 

1 Metaphysics is a subject which it is hardly worth while for any 
one to take up unless he intends to study it thoroughly. The student 
who takes it up in this wa}^ will soon find that the writer who is 
most important at the present time is Hegel. A popular introduc- 
tion to Hegel has been written by Dr. Edward Caird {Blackwood's 
Philosophical Classics); and Professor Wallace has also written 
valuable Prolegomena to his Translation of the Logic and the Philo- 
sophy oj Mind. The best introduction to Hegel in English is, how- 



1 6.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 



437 



ever, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, \vhere the transition from 
Kant to Hegel is explained with the greatest thoroughness and 
clearness. Mr. McTaggart's Studies in Hegelian Dialectic and the 
Prefatory Essay to Dr. Bosanquet's translation of the Introduction 
to Hegel's Aesthetik may also be found helpful. As a more ele- 
mentary introduction to the study of Metaphysics, Watson's Comte, 
Mill and Spencer may be recommended, with some slight reserv^a- 
tions ; and, for still more elementary purposes, Mr. W. M. Salter's 
First Steps in Philosophy may be mentioned. With special reference 
to the more religious aspect of the subject, Caird's Evolution of 
i?^/z"^/o7z will be found exceedingly instructive. Mr. Bradley's .4/- 
pearance and Reality is the most important attempt at a metaphysical 
construction in English. It is largely, but not entirely in harmony 
with the Hegelian system. But perhaps it must still be sorrowfu'ly 
admitted, as it was by Kant, that " Metaphysics is undoubtedly the 
most difficult of sciences ; but it is a science that has not yet come 
into existence." 



APPENDIX. 



NOTE ON ETHICAL LITERATURE. 

The chief function of such a handbook as this must be, like that 
of Goldsmith's village preacher, to " allure to brighter worlds and 
lead the way." The " brighter worlds " in this case are the works of 
the great masters of the science. To these frequent references have 
been given throughout this sketch ; but it may be w^orth while now^ to 
make a few general remarks upon them, and to indicate the order 
in which they may be most profitably read. The precise order in 
which they should be taken will of course depend partly on indi- 
vidual taste, and partly on the amount of time at the student's 
disposal. 

For the majority of readers, I believe that Mill's Utilitarianism 
will be found one of the most easy and interesting books to begin 
upon ; and it will give a good general impression of the Hedonistic 
point of view. If thought desirable, the concluding chapter on 
Justice may be omitted on a first reading. The study of the whole 
book may be accompanied by a reference to the criticisms contained 
in Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, 

Portions of Kant ought also to be read at an early date. The 
student will soon find that modern Ethics, like modern Philosophy 
generally, turns largely upon him. The first two sections of the 
Metaphysic of Moral (to be found in Abbott's Kant's Theory of 
Ethics) will be found comparatively easy, even by students who 
have not read anything on Metaphysics, and \\\\\ convey a fair un- 
derstanding of Kant's general position : but it is difficult to proceed 
far in Kant's ethical system without some knowledge of his meta- 
physical principles.! 

The studerit w^ho has mastered the general principles of Mill and 
Kant w^ill have a fair idea of the bases of the Utilitarian and the 



1 Those who are prepared to go fully into Kant's point of view 
will find invaluable aid in Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant 

439 



440 



APPENDIX. 



Idealistic systems of morals. Those who wish to go more fully into 
the modern developments of these points of view must read Sidg- 
wick's Methods of Ethics and Green's Prolegomena. Of these two, 
Green's is the more difficult to understand, on account of his strongly 
metaphysical point of view. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, how- 
ever, will give the student great assistance in following the line of 
Green's argument. 

Sidgwick's book has the advantage of supplying the student not 
only with the best statement of the modern Utilitarian point of view, 
but also with the best criticism of Intuitionism. For a statement of 
the Intuitionist point of view by one of its own adherents, reference 
may be made to Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory. An element- 
ary student, however, would probably find this book somewhat 
confusing. 

The chief books written from the Evolutionist point of view are 
Spencer's Data of Ethics,^ Stephen's Science of Ethics and Alex- 
ander's Moral Order and Progress.^ Each of these possesses spe- 
cial merits of its own. Mr. Alexander's book seems to me the most 
profound of the three ; but for this very reason it may perhaps be 
the most difficult for an elementary student. Mr. Stephen's book, 
being by a man of letters, is written in remarkably clear and 
vigorous English, and will probably be found the most pleasant to 
read. It is also in some respects the most suggestive, Mr. Spencer's 
■work has the advantage of forming part of a complete and compre- 
hensive speculative system ; and the way in which he connects 
Ethics with the various other departments of knowledge gives his 
book a peculiar interest and stimulating power, especially perhaps 
for young students. Otherwise, it does not seem to me so satisfac- 
tory as the work of either of the other two. 

While, however, the more recent books will naturally have a cer- 
tain attraction for the student, he ought not to neglect the older 
masterpieces. Plato's Republic and Aristotle's Ethics^ are still in 
many respects the greatest works on Ethics that we possess ; and 



1 Now Part I. of The Principles of Ethics. 

2 Chapters v. and vi. in Darwin's Descent of Man may also be 
referred to. But the treatment of this subject there is slight and 
superficial 

3 In connection with these, Bosanquet's Companion to Plato's Re^ 
public and Stewart's Notes on the Nicomachean Ethics should be 
used. 



NOTE ON ETHICAL LITERATURE. 441 



every serious student ought to read them at as early a point in his 
course as he finds possible. Spinoza's Ethics is a very difficult book, 
and can only be fully appreciated by an advanced student of Meta- 
ph^^sics.i The same remark is on the whole true of Hegel's Philoso- 
fhie des Rechts—3i great book of which at last there is a tolerable 
translation. Some of the most important points in Hegel's system are, 
however, reproduced in a simple and interesting form in Dewey's 
Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics^ Bradley's Ethical Siiidics 
also represents the Hegelian point of view ; but this most interest- 
ing and stimulating work is unhappily out of print.^ Among other 
works of historical importance, which the student may profitably 
read, may be mentioned Butler's Sermons and Dissertation II. 
("Of the Nature of Virtue "), Yimw^'s^ Treatise on Humafi Nature, 
Books II. and HI., or Dissertation on the Passions and Inquiry con- 
cerning the Principles of Morals, Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sen- 
timent, Bentham's Principles of Morals and Legislation^ Bacon's De 
Augmentis, Books VH. and VHI., and Hobbes's LeviathanA 



1 Students who desire to read Spinoza will derive great assistance 
from Principal Caird's excellent monograph in Blackwood's " Philo- 
sophical Classics." Those who read German will find his whole 
system expounded very fully and with extraordinary' clearness and 
brilliancy in Kuno Fischer's Geschichte der neuern Philosophic, I., ii. 
For a shorter account, students may be referred to the article on 
" Cartesianism " in the Encyclopcedia Britannica. Spinoza, as a 
pure Determinist, and as one who w^holly excludes the conception 
of ideals or of final causes, may be -said to begin by denying the 
possibility of Ethics. He treats it as a positive or natural history 
science, not as a normative science. Cf. above, p,92, note i. But as 
he goes on with the development of his system, he is led, in spite of 
himself, to admit the conception of an ideal or end in human life, 
and even of a certain " immanent finality" in nature. This point is 
well brought out by Principal Caird {op, cit, pp. 270, 304). 

2 HegcVs Philosophy of History (translated in Bohn's Series) will 
also be found very interesting. 

3 Bosanquet's Civilization of Christendom — a collection of Essays 
on Applied Ethics — is also written from this point of view. 

4 A fairly complete list of important English works on Ethics, 
arranged according to schools, will be found at the end of Muir- 
head's Elements of Ethics, 




\ 1 



442 



APPENDIX. 



Many other useful books might be mentioned. Students who 
read German will find Paulsen's System der Ethik,^ Hoffding's 
Ethiky Wundt's Ethik, and Simmel's Einleitung in die Moralwissen- 
schaft, of the greatest value.2 In French, the writings of Guyau and 
Fouillee will be found particularly suggestive : Simon's Dti^ Devoir 
and Renouvier's La Science Morale may also be referred to. For 
Social Ethics Comte's Politique Positive is invaluable. ^ I may 
also mention Sorley's Ethics of Naturalism,^ Fowler's Progressive 
Morality^ Clifford's Lectures and Essays (containing some extremely 
suggestive points), Lotze's Practical Philosophy , Janet's Theory of 
Morals, Royce's Religious Aspect of Philosophy, Edgeworth's Mathe- 
matical Psychics and New and Old Methods of Ethics, In the 
History of Ethics, in addition to Sidgwick's History of Ethics and to 
the short statements contained in General Histories of Philosophy 
{e. g. Erdmann's, Zeller's, and Kuno Fischer's), reference may be 
made to Lecky*s History of European Morals, to Stephen's English 
Thought in the Eighteenth Century, and (for readers of German) to 
Zeigler's Ethik der Griechen und Romern and Gcschichte der Christ- 
lichen Ethik, and to Jodl's Gcschichte der neuern Ethik. C. M. Wil- 
liams's recent work on Evolutional Ethics will be found useful 
with reference to that particular school. Notices of current litera- 
ture on the subject, as well as discussions on particular points, 
will be found from time to time in the pages of Mind, of the PhilO' 
sophical Review, and of the International Journal of Ethics. 



1 This is particularly valuable on the side of Applied Ethics. 

2 The last-named is almost purely critical, 

3 For a summary of Comte's point of view, see Caird's Social 
Philosophy and Religion of Comte. For the history of social Ethics 
before Comte, reference may be made to Janet's Histoire de la 
Science Politique ; also to the same writer's Philosophic de la Revolu- 
tion francaise, Saint-Simon et le Saint-Simonisme, and Les Origines 
du Socialisme contemporain. See also Mohl's Gcschichte und Litera- 
tur der Staatswissenschaften. 

4 Containing extremely valuable criticisms of the Utilitarian and 
Evolutionist schools. 



INDEX. 



Abbott, T. K. : referred to, 

192, 326. 
Act : will and, 54-7. 

resolution and, 378-9. 

crime and, 378-9. 

Action : reflection and, 109, 364-6. 

nature of voluntary, 98-100. 

Actions : as lies, 189, 320. 

and motives, 65, 368. 

as dependent on character, 

387- 

and remorse, 388. 

Activity: involved in morality, 14. 
Adjustment : in relation to morals 

and science, 239 seq, 
Adler: referred to, 331, 354. 
^Esthetics and Ethics, 12, 16, 

28-30, 177 seq. 
Alexander; on natural seleetion 

in morals, 243 seq. 

on good conduct, 245-6. 

on duties, 315. 

— — on virtue and duty, 325-6. 
on the relation of the virtues 

to social institutions, 334. 

on vices as old virtues, 374. 

Altruism: and Egoism, 275. 
conciliation of, with Egoism 

(Spencer), 275-6. 
Animals: conduct in, 85, 105-6. 

incapable of higher sins, 399. 

moral judgment in, 114. 

relation to men, 408-9. 

spontaneity of, 94. 

Appetite : and Want, 44 seq. 
and desire, 46 seq.^ 248. 



Aristotle : on moral activity, 14. 

on the Good Will, 16. 

on Ethics and Politics, 32. 

definition of the Good, 44. 

on motive, 64. 

on good habit and the good 

man, 84, 88. 
on the relation of virtue and 

knowledge, 88. 

view of Ethics, 152, 278. 

on practical utility of Ethics, 

332. 

on virtue as a mean, 340. 

Ust of virtues, 340-1. 

on changing of character, 

349- 

" practical syllogism," 352. 

definition of virtue, 353. 

on the contemplative life, 

364, 367. 

referred to, 3, 46, 53, 89, 92, 

266, 270,273, 277, 300, 311, 
313, 374, 440. 

Arnauld : quoted (on rest), 365. 

Arnold, Matthew : on Conduct, 
17- 

— - definition of religion, 417- 
420. 

on art as truth, 426. 

and a "power not ourselves, 

that makes for righteous- 
ness," 432. 

Art: and Science, 11-12. 

morality a fine, 12 seq.^ 28-30. 

relation to religion, 420 seq. 

the failure of, 426-8. 

443 



444 



INDEX. 



Ascetic principle : Bentham on, 
205. 

Asceticism, 363-4. 
Atheism, 431. 

Attainment : progressive and catas- 
trophic, 79 seq. 

Backsliding, 289. 

Bacon: referred to, 347. 
Bain, Prof. : referred to, 68. 
Beautiful souls, 29-30, 362-3. 
Beautiful, the : and the Good, 

177-8. 
Beauty, 28-30, 177-8. 
Bentham: on pleasure and pain, 

67. 

his life, 159-160. 

on "the Ascetic Principle," 

205. 

confused egoistic and uni- 

versalistic hedonism, 211. 

his view of " ought," 213. 

on value of pleasures, 214. 

doggerel on qualities of 

pleasures, 215. 

discarded the expression of 

the greatest number," 222. 
■ on final and efficient cause 
of human action, 394. 

on sanctions, 394-5. 

Biology, 26-7, 235 seq. 

Blanc, Louis: referred to, 297. 

Blessedness : term for the satis- 
faction of higher desires, 
227. 

Bosanquet : on Moral Ideas and 
Ideas about Morality, no. 

on " the scholar's golden 

rule," 345. 

referred to, 87, 113, 256, 428, 

437- 

Bradley, F. PI. : what pleasure is, 
224. 

on personal opinions as self- 
conceit, 337. 

on being a whole, 349. 

referred to, 67, 170, 203, 256, 

328, 336, 437. 

Browne, Sir T. ; quoted, 196. 



Browning : quoted on art, 16, 
139- 

on change of universe, 251. 

on education of character, 

350- 

on estimate of an individual, 

84, 365, 381. 

on intuitions of art, 429. 

on religion, 433. 

referred to, 344. 

Bryant, S. : referred to, on educa- 
tion, 34. 

on fortitude, 343. 

Bryce, J. : quoted, 115, 207-8. 

Buckle : referred to, 381, 410. 

Buddha: referred to, 370. 

Buddhists : referred to, 431. 

Burke : quoted, 338, 391. 

Burns : quoted, 136. 

Butler, J. : on conscience, 182 
seq.^ 185. 

— — on objects and desires, 71. 

CaIRD, E.: on Kant, 159. 

on art, 427. 

referred to, 436-7, 439. 

Caird, Princ. J. : referred to, 52, 
441. 

Calculus of pleasure, 229. 
Capacity and act, 14. 
Carlyle : his view of Economics, 
12. 

on character as an inherit- 
ance, 102. 

on blessedness and happi- 
ness, 227. 

on a clear conscience, 286. 

on slavery, 300. 

his commandment, 321, 328. 

— — on the unconscious as the 
only complete, 355. 

on know thyself y 365. 

on crime and act, 379. 

on birth of heroes, 392. 

on * Progress of the Species,' 

400. 

on greatness and melan- 
choly, 413. 
on worship, 421. 



INDEX. 



445 



Carlyle : on greatness and unhap- 

piness, 428. 

on music, 428. 

*' the soul of the world is 

just," 433. 
referred to, 172, 304, 356, 

363^ 372. 

quoted, 376. 

Casuistry, 321-3. 

Categorical imperative, 169 seq. 

Categories, 188. 

Cause, filial and efficient^ 62. 

Bentham on, 394. 

Celibacy, 200. 

Chalmers, Dr. : referred to, 350. 

Character, 83-4. 

Novalis on, 57. 

of women : Pope on, 58, 376. 

as object of the moral judg- 
ment, 137-8. 

respect for, 317-8. 

education of, 348 seq, 

a weak, 375. 

of great strength, 376. 

development of, 380. 

in relation to action, 387. 

Children : qtiasi-x\^\?> of, 409. 

Christ : referred to, 370, 371. 

Christian Ethics, 279-280. 

Christianity, 30. 

Christian love, 345-6. 

Church : the, 306. 

Circumstance, 85-8. 

Civilization : the product of vir- 
tues and vices, 391. 

Clarke, 154, 175. 

Clifford, W. K. : the " tribal 
self," 1 1 5-6, 287. 

on conscience, 117-8. 

Code of honour, 8, 324. 
Coit, Dr. S., 148. 
Commandments, 8, 314. 

relation to the virtues, 334-5. 

the Jewish, 121, 334. 

— — what they are, 347-8. 
Common sense ethics, 183 seq. 
Community : of goods, 299. 

the civic, 305-6. 

Comte, Auguste, 113, 432. 

Couluct, i-r, 58. 

a fine art, 12, 14 seq. 



; Conduct : the whole of life, 17. 

I definition of, 84-5. 

■ Spencers view of, 85. 

I evolution of, 104 seq. 

germs of, in lower animals, 

105-7. 

among savages, 107. 

guidance of, by custom, 108. 

, by law, 108. 

, by ideas, 108-9. 

as object of the moral judg- 
ment, 135. 

rules of, 331-3. 

sanctions of, 393. 

and emotion, 417 seq. 

Conscience, 146, 186, 198. 

origin of, 117-8. 

individual, as moral stand- 
ard, 122-3. 

law of, 182 seq. 

and the social unity, 285 

seq. 

mystery of, 286. 

pain of, 286. 

attached to the highest sys- 
tem of things, 287. 

qzcasi-, 287-8= 

stifling of, 289. 

case of," 323. 

Conscientiousness, 356. 

over-much, 369. 

Consistency, 170, 191 seq. 

Contract: right and obligation 
of, 300-1. 

"from status to," 300. 

" social," 300. 

Conventional rules, 324-5. 

Conversion, 355. 

Corruption : social, 391. 

Cosmopolitan, 279. 

Courage : a Greek virtue, 335 
seq., 404. 

a cardinal virtue, 342 seq. 

Crime, 381-2. 

as evidence of insanity, 287. 

Custom, I, 107-8, 325. 

as the moral standard, 119- 

120. 

Cyrenaics : and Cynics, 151. 
and Egoistic Hedonism, 215. 



446 



INDEX. 



Dante : referred to, 422, 427. 
Darwin : referred to, 85, 242. 
Decisiveness and perseverance 

as virtues, 344, 346. 
Democritus, 148. 
Descartes : referred to, 153, 369, 

424. 

Desirable: ambiguity of, 213. 
Desire : general nature of, 43 seq. 

and appetite, 46-7. 

universe of, 47-9. 

and wish, 52-3. 

and pleasure, 67-9, 79-82. 

the object of, 69 seq, 

"disinterested," 72. 

imaginative satisfaction of, 

81-2. 

higher and lower forms of, 

208- 9. 

satisfaction of, is happiness, 

209- 210. 

Desires : conflict of, 49-51. 

not for pleasure, 73-4. 

satisfaction of, 209-210. 

Determinists, 94. 

and crime, 387. 

Devas, C. S., 33. 

Development : of the moral con- 
sciousness, 1 1 1-2. 

general nature of moral, 

126. 

of life, 235. 

higher and lower views of, 

235-6. 

of moral life, 236. 

explanation of, 237 seq. 

Devil, the: an ass, 15. 

Dewey, J. : conflict of desires, 

51-2. 

on motives, 65. 

on actions of animals, 95. 

on the good artisan, 329. 

referred to, 203, 341. 

Discipline : value of ascetic, 349. 
Diihring : referred to, 248. 
Aum/zif, 14. 

Duties : my station and its, 328- 

330- 
Duty, 162 seq. 



Duty: happiness, perfection and, 
159-160. 

of perfect and imperfect ob- 
ligation, 325 seq. 

and virtue, 327, 334. 

and work, 328-9. 

paradox of, 355. 

KdUCATION : right and obli- 
gation of, 301. 

of character, 348 seq, 

and psychology, 348. 

moral, 351. 

punishment as agent of, 384. 

Egoism: and altruism, 275. 

conciliation of, with altru- 
ism, 275 seq. 

Egoistic hedonism, 215-8. 

Eliot, George: on the highest 
happiness, 233. 

Emancipation of slaves : and mo- 
rality, 410-412. 

Emerson : on self-consistency, 170. 

quoted, 91, 247, 367, 399. 

End, 2-4. 

idea of, 85. 

as self-realization, 233. 

perfection rather than hap- 
piness, 233. 

'Yivkpyzia^ 14. 

Environment : change of, and 
moral change, 410-412. 

Epicureans : identified virtue with 
happiness, 206. 

and egoistic hedonism, 215. 

Ethical hedonism, 212. 

general meaning of, 214 

seq. 

Ethos of a people, 336-9. 

the universal, 336. 

Evils : use of, 381-2. 
Evolution: of conduct, 104 seq. 

its application to morals, 

234-5. 

and theory of ethics, 235, 

262 seq. 

and Spencer's ethical theory, 

237-241, 247. 
— — social, 397-400. 



INDEX. 



447 



Evolutionists : on ethics, 241 seq. 
Example : influence of, 348. 
Exceptions, 199. 
Exploitation : of the poor, 392. 



r ACTS and rules, 5-8. 
Failure : of life, 424-5. 

of society, 425-6. 

Fairbanks, Prof. A., 113. 

Faith, 413-4, 435-^- 

Family : the, 302. 

violation of the sanctities 

of: forbidden, 319. 
Fanaticism, 57, 136-7, 185. 
Faults : as moral agents, 367. 
Feeling, 63, 196. 

of " self-realisedness," 224. 

of pleasure is sense of value, 

223. ^ 

of satisfaction : differences 

of, 226. 
Fichte, 198. 
Forgiveness, 390-1. 
Form and matter, 191, 192 seq.^ 

230-231. 
Fouillee : referred to, 113, 442. 
Fowler : referred to, 262. 
Freedom : essential to morals, 

91-2. 

the true sense of, 93-4. 

the highest, 97-8. 

a right of man, 297-8. 

respect for, 316-7. 

Friendship, 307-8. 
Froude, J. A. : quoted, 369. 

Gass E N D I : referred to, 

153-4, 216. 
Gauss : referred to, 164. 
Genius: moral, 12, 332. 
Giddings, F. H., 113. 
Gilman, X. P. : referred to, 12. 
Gizycki : referred to, 221, 306. 
God : mediaeval conception of, 

lOI. 

goodness in, 165. 

law of, 174. 

- — must be social, 274. 



God : as all, 430. 

as infinite and not infinite, 

432. 

Goethe : quoted, 292, 358, 361, 
366. 

Goldsmith : quoted, 64. 
Golden Age, a, 397. 
Good, 2-3. 

will, the, 15-16, 128-130. 

its relation to desire, 44. 

habit, 84. 

happiness the only, 218. 

must be for somebody, 220. 

is explained by the end, 

247. 

the only thing desired, 373-4. 

j the only reality, 433. 

; Goodness: an activity, 14. 

I and the beautiful, 177-8. 

I as adjustment, 242. 

Goods : community of, 299. 

Greek religion, 420. 

Green : on the will, 54. 

on the relation of pleasure 

to objects, 229. 

his view of ethics, 248-250. 

on good and evil actions, 

359. 

on Greek virtues, 404. 

on self-denial, 404-6. 

referred to, 357, 378. 

Guyau, referred to, 104, 113, 442. 
Gymnastic and music, 366. 

H ABIT, 88-90, 106. 

good, 84. 

Hallam : referred to, 381. 
Happiness, 171. 

the only good, 218. 

fallacy of the general, 219. 

its relation to the self, 232. 

is a relative term, 232. 

the highest, 233. 

is not the end, 233. 

real meaning of, 253. 

Heart : 198-9. 

Heaven : and freedom of the 

will, 10 1. 
Hedonism : psychological, 67-69. 



448 



INDEX. 



Hedonism : paradox of, 69-71. 

— — varieties of, 210-212. 

ethical, in relation to psycho- 
logical, 212-3. 

egoistic, 215-8. 

universalistic, 218 seq. 

three forms of, 221. 

general criticism of, 222 seq. 

foundation of, 222. 

gives matter without form, 

231. 

and motives to seek happi- 
ness, 394.^ 

Hedonists : ethical and psycho- 
logical, 211. 

Hegel : on the planets, 94. 

his view of " ought," 168. 

his Logic, 268. 

on the history of freedom, 

297. 

• on the Greek gods, 422. 

on art, 428. 

" the bad infinite," 431. 

■ on the real and the rational, 

436- 

quoted, 52, 318, 328, 336, 

411. 

referred . to, 266, 270, 292, 

433' 436-7- 
Heine, on Kant, 159-160. 
Hell : paved with good intentions, 

129. 

and freedom of the will, loi. 

Helve tins : referred to, 216. 
Heraclitus : referred to, 147-8. 
Herbart: referred to, 348. 

quoted, 351. 

Heredity, 101-2, 106. 
Hobbes : referred to, 1 54, 1 58, 
216. 

Hoffding : referred to, 378. 

Homer : referred to, 374, 422. 

Honesty : more than mere truth- 
fulness, 345. 

Honour: code of, 8, 324. 

Humanity : religion of, 432. 

Hume : on reason and passion, 
75-6. 

on self^ 96. 

referred to, 300. 



Hunger: not a desire, 81. 
Hutcheson, 154, 178, 181. 

on desires, 71. 

Huxley : referred to, 223. 

I DEAL : meaning of, 28-9. 

the : study of, 360. 

the universe of, 412-4. 

validity of the, 416. 

as real, 429. 

Idealistic view of ethics, its bear- 
ing on practice, 264 seq. 
Ignorance : and responsibility, 

. 388. 

Imagination : and morality, 423-4. 
Imperative : the social, 291. 

absolute, 332, 386. 

with exception, 386. 

Impulse, 57 : and responsibility, 

388. 

Inclination, 57, 

Incompleteness : sense of, 402-3. 

and need of religion, 423. 

and morality, 423. 

Indifference : liberty of, 90, 94. 
Individual : and society, 273 seq, 

life, 354 seq. 

Individualism : and Socialism, 
308-9. 

commandment of, 309. 

the higher, 354-5. 

Inducement, 62-64. 
Infinite, the : demand for, 428, 
430- 

" the bad," 431. 

Infinites : the two, 429-430. 
Insanity : exempts from respon= 

sibility, 387. 
Instinct, 105-6, 248-9. 
Institutions : social, 302 seq, 
— — unsectarian ethical, 306. 

and rights, 315. 

and duties, 315. 

and virtues, 334, 348. 

Intention : meaning of, 59 seq, 

relation to motive, 64 seq, 

the good : and virtue, 378, 

good and bad, 379. 

Intuitionism, 183 seq,^ 259-260. 



INDEX. 



449 



JaCOBI, 195, 198-9. 
James : referred to, 349, 434-5. 
Janet, P. : referred to, 188, 198, 
323-4. 

Jansenists : referred to, 205. 
Jesuits ; referred to, 322. 
Jevons, 214. 

Jewish law summed up, 323. 
Jews: commandments of, 121, 
334- 

and moral laws, 124. 

the religion of, 431. 

JoJm^ Epistle of: quoted, 390. 
Judgment : the artistic, 16. 

the moral, 114 seq. 

the reflective, 123. 

on act and agent, 130 seq. 

Jurisprudence and Ethics, 331. 
Justice, 15. 

social, 292-3. 

note on, 31 1-3. 

use of the term, 326. 

as social virtue, 345. 

Kant : on the goodwill, 15- 

16, 128, 1 90-1. 

on idea of end, 85. 

on love not a duty, 91. 

on ought " and " can," 

91. 

his life, 1 59-160. 

on the categorical impera- 
tive, 169, 191 seq. 

on conscience, 185, 260. 

his categories, 188. 

his view of the moral reason, 

190 seq. 

undue rigorism of his sys- 
tem, 195 seq. 

his dualism, 195, 201. 

— his view of humanity as an 
end, 201. 

note on his views, 203-6. 

on duties of perfect and im- 
perfect obligation, 326-7. 

on the two infinities, 429- 

430- 

referred to, 25, 257, 260, 439. 

Eth. 



Knowledge and virtue, 88. 
Kiilpe : referred to, 73. 

Labour : right of man to, 297. 

duty of, 320-1. 

Law, 162 seq. 

positive : as the moral stand- 
ard, 1 20-1. 

the moral, 121. 

of reason, 187 seq. 

and public opinion, 293-4. 

punishment a vindication of, 

286. 

the supreme, 323-4. 

Laws: moral, 162 seq. 

of nature, 163-4. 

of political economy, 164, 

170. 

of ethics, 165, 171. 

nature of moral, 314-316. 

conventional, 324-5. 

Liberty : human, 95. 

of indifference is absurd, 

90. 

Milton on, 298. 

Life : development of, 235. 

the moral, 273 seq. 

right and obligation of, 296-7. 

sacredness of, 297. 

respect for, 316. 

the monastic, 361. 

the active and the contem- 
plative, 364 seq. 

relation of the inner to the 

outer, 366 seq. 

deepening of the spiritual, 

403-4- 

the moral : and environment, 

410-412. 

failure of, 424-5. 

Locke; his view of ethics, 154, 

189. 

— his use of term 'idea,' 28. 
Logic, 6, 10, 18, 21, 24. 

and ethics, 28-30, 189, 268 

seq. 

Lowell, J. R., 7. 

Luther : referred to, 381. 

Luxuries, 305. 

29 



450 INI 

Lying : as the essenceof sin, 189. 
forbidden, 319-320. 

M AC AULA Y : referred to, 289. 

Mach, on Instinct, 181. 

Maine : on Bentham, 160. 

referred to, 300. 

Man : not a mere animal, 273. 

in relation to social sur- 
roundings, 280 seq, 

the virtuous, 334. 

good and bad, 337. 

the virtuous : and the world, 

368-9. 

the virtuous : and his en- 
vironment, 369. 
■ the virtuous : and success, 

382. 

the vicious : and punish- 
ment, 382. 

— — cause of his relative unhappi- 
ness, 399. 

the ideal, 403. 

Mandeville : referred to, 216. 

Manicheism, 432. 

Marshal], Prof. A. : referred to, 
176, 361,. 398. 

Martineau's view of motives, 

131-3- 

Master: and servant, 409-410. 

Mathematics, 164. 

Matter: and form, 191, 192 j-^^., 
230, 231. 

McTaggart, 437- 

Mediaeval ethics, 153. 

Metaphysics, 24. 

and ethics, 30-1. 

ultimate problem of, 435-6. 

Mill, J. S. : on pleasure as the 
object of desire, 68. 

on parts of happiness, 74-5. 

his view of motives and in- 
tentions, 133-4. 

confused egoistic and uni- 

versalistic hedonism, 211. 

exponent of utilitarianism, 

218. 

argument for utilitarianism, 

218-9. 



Mill, J. vS. : on quantity and quality 

of pleasures, 225. 

on higher happiness, 232. 

on capacity for enjoyment, 

232. 

on justice, 31 1-2. 

on sanctions, 395-6. 

on the finitude of God, 432. 

quoted, 180, 281. 

referred to, 96, 164, 281, 285, 

326, 439- 

Milton : on love of freedom, 
298. 

on religion as a "dividual 

movable," 362. 

on cloistered virtue, 370. 

on Satan, 374, 375, 399. 

quoted, 146, 380. 

Moral genius, 12, 332. 

imperatives, 92. 

ideas and ethical ideas, ilo. 

consciousness : development 

of, 1 1 1-2. 

law, the, 121. 

conflict, 1 21-2. 

judgment : growth of, 114. 

judgment significance of, 

127 seq. 

judgment: object of, 128, 

. 133 -f^^- 

judgment: subjects of, 138 

seq, 

connoisseur, the, 139 seq. 

- — -sense, 140, 154, 177 seq,^ 
256-7. 

reason, 190 seq. 

life : a process of growth, 

234 seq. 

ideals : origin of, 244. 

laws : nature of, 314 seq. 

philosopher, the : the task 

of, 332. 

reformer, 370 seq. 

evil, 373-6. 

pathology, 373 seq. 

sanctions : (note on), 393-6. 

progress, 397. 

universe, the, 400. 

change, and change of en- 
vironment, 410-412. 



INDEX. 



Moral genius, life, and religion, 
240. 

Morality: and religion, 417 seq. 
Morals : freedom essential to, 
91-2. 

necessity essential to, 92-3. 

and evolution, 234. 

an adjustment, 238 seq. 

natural selection in, 243-4. 

minor, 324-5. 

primitive and modem, com- 
pared, 397-8. 

Morgan, Prin. C. L., 105, 106, 247, 
249. 

Morris, Wm. : referred to, 299, 
365- 

Moses: referred to, 371. 

Motive : meaning of, 62 seq. 

relation of,to intention, 64 seq, 

relation of, to pleasure, 66-7. 

reason as a, 75-6. 

constitution of, 77-8. 

as object of the moral judg- 
ment, 134 seq. 

and actions, 357, 

as sanction, 393. 

the right ethical, 393. 

the pohtical and economic, 

in relation to morality, 410- 
412. 

** Mrs. Grundy," 324. 

Muirhead, J. H. : on Kantian 

ethics, 203, 206. 

on feeling, 288. 

on a good and a bad artisan, 

329- 

on courage and temperance, 

344. 

on generosity, 345. 

on resolution, 373. 

his list of corrupt social in- 
stitutions, 392. 
on emotion and religion, 

417-8. 

quoted, 294. 

referred to, 186, 288, 289, 

342, 350- 
Music : in education, 366. 

Carlyle on, 428. 

Must: 167-9. 



IN 



APOLEON: referred to, 365. 
j Natural selection : in morals, 243 
' seq, 

j Nature : law of, 174 seq. 

. Necessarians, 94. 

I Necessity : essential to morals, 

- 92-3- 
I rsirvana, 431. 

Novalis : on character, 57. 

Normative science, 20-22. 
I — — — Ethics as a, 4 seq. 

I 

I 

I Object: of desire, 64 seq, 

j its relation to pleasure, 217. 

I pleasure inseparable from, 

i 227-9. 
Obligation : and rights, 295-6, 

ultimate meaning of, 301. 

and commandments, 314. 

duties of perfect and imper- 
fect, 325 seq. 

new, 407-410. 

Ought, 167-9, 171- 

and " can," 91. 

• hedonistic use of, 212. 

Bentham on, 213. 

meaning of, 254. 

as the social imperative, 291. 

absolute, 331. 

Owen, Robert, 90. 



r^DAGOGICS and ethics, 
33-4- 

Pain : as negative of pleasure, 
72-3. 

Pantheism : the deeper, 431. 
Paradox : of hedonism, 69 seq. 

of duty, 355. 

Passion: 157. 

Paul: referred to, 294, 317, 377. 

quoted, 97. 
People : the ethos of a, 336-9, 
Perception, 180-1. 
Perfection, 234 seq, 
the true end, 233. 



452 



INDEX. 



Perfection : explanations of, 236 
seq.^ 247 seq. 

counsels of," 413. 

Pessimism : ground for, 424-5. 
Pessimists, 3. 

Pfleiderer, Prof. : referred to, 420. 
Philanthropy, 196. 
Philosophy: and ethics, 17, 30-1. 
Physical science : and ethics, 25. 
' Plain man,' 195. 
Plato : his view of virtue as an 
art, 15. 

his Ideal theory, 152. 

his view of ethics, 277-8. 

on community of goods, 299. 

on the virtues, 340-1. 

referred to, 266, 302, 366, 

424, 433- 
Pleasure : as a motive, 66-7. 
as the only object of desire, 

67 seq. 

paradox of, 69 seq. 

— — ambiguity of, 69, 72. 

of pursuit, 70, 79-82. 

pain as negative of, 72-3. 

and pleasures, 72-5, 217. 

of progressive attainment, 

79 seq, 

and desire : (note on), 79-82. 

is satisfaction of appetite, 

209-210. 

quantity of, 214-5. 

greatest, 214-5. 

intensity and duration 

214. 

objective content of, 217. 

only reasonable thing 

seek, 218. 

most intense, preferable, 218. 

of others and our own, 220. 

as sense of value, 223-4. 

inseparable from object, 

227-9. 

no calculus of, 229-230. 

Pleasures : quality of, 225-6. 

sum of : is not pleasure, 

229-230. 
Poetry: in religion, 433-4. 
Political Economy, 6, 21-2. 
• its relation to ethics, 32-3. 



of, 



to 



Politics : and ethics, 31-2, 277. 
Pope : quoted, 58, 376. 
Practical reason : dualism of, 
221. 

Practice : bearing of theory on, 

255 seq. 
Priggishness, 351. 
Progress : respect for, 320-1. 

moral, 397 seq. 

Propagandism, 408. 

Property : right and obligation of, 

298-300. 

respect for, 318. 

Psychological hedonism, 67-9. 
in relation to ethical, 

212-3. 

Psychology : and ethics, 27-8, 
36-7- 

and education, 33. 

and universe of desire, t;i, 

and the mind, 132. 

and education of character, 

. 348. 

Public opinion : and law, 293-4. 
Punishment, 382-4. 

origin of, 383. 

justification of, 383, 386. 

as a vindication of law, 386. 

retributive theory of, 386. 

Purpose, 57. 

Pursuit : pleasures of, 70, 79-82. 

K.EAL, the : as ideal, 429. 
Reality : as the good, 433. 
Reason: and will, 75-7. 

and passion, 1 57 seq. 

law of, 1 57 seq. 

Reflection : and action, 109. 

and the moral life, 354 seq. 

— — on conduct and motives, 
356-9- 

Reform : punishment as agent of, 
384. 

Reformation, 389. 
Reformer : the moral, 370. 

is often inconsiderate, 376. 

need of, 392. 

function of, 402-3. 



INDEX. 



4S3 



Religion : as a division of labour, 
361-2. 

and the moral life, 420. 

in relation to art, 420-3. 

the ideals of, 421. 

and reality, 421-3. 

origin of, 423. 

the necessity of, 423-4. 

the first, 430-1. 

the second, 431-2. 

the third, 432-3. 

of humanity, 432. 

and superstition, 433-^4. 

ethical significance of, 434 

seq. 

Remorse, 388. 

Renan : quoted, 98. 

Responsibility, 101-3, '^']-^* 

Revenge, 385. 

Reward : origin of, 383. 

Rhetoric, 166. 

Riddles of the Sphinx: referred 

to, 432. 
Right, 1-2, 162 seq. 

the : and the good, 158 seq. 

Righteousness, 171. 

Rights : and obligations, 295-6, 

315- 

of man : defined and dis- 
cussed, 296 seq. 

ultimate meaning of, 301. 

quasi, 409, 

Ritchie, Prof. D. G. : referred to, 
64. 

Rossignol, J, E. Le : on Wollas- 

ton, 189. 
Rousseau : referred to, 297, 300. 
Royce, Prof. : referred to, 288. 
Rules, 2, 5, 7. 

Greeks no code of moral, 

314. 

conflict of : inevitable, 321. 

conventional, 324-5. 

and interest, 329. 

cut-and-dried, 331. 

of conduct : (note on), 331-3. 

Ruskin : his view of economics, 
33- 

on taste, 178. 

on honesty in art, 345. 



^ Ruskin : referred to, 47, 185, 354, 
365. 372, 392, 398. 
Rutherford, Mark : quoted, 379. 



SANCTION, 98, 393. 

as motive, 393. 

the " Pragmatic," 393. 

kinds of, 394-5. 

Satisfaction : subsequent to want, 
71-2. 

imaginative, 81-2. 

of desires, 209-210. 

different feelings of, 226. 

Schiller : his criticism of Kant, 

196-7. 

referred to, 324. 

quoted, 427. 

Schopenhauer: referred 10,92. 
Science : positive and normative, 

5-6, 20-22. 

practical, 8. 

and art, 11-13. 

physical : its relation to 

ethics, 25. 
Seeley, Sir J.: quoted, 119-120, 

121. 

Self : a man's, 95. 

of a higher kind, 97. 

the true : is the rational, 98. 

the "tribal," 11 5-7. 

the " ideal," 144-5. 

and happiness, 232-3. 

realisation of : as the end, 

233- 

the social, 273-4. 

Self-consistency : real meaning of , 

201-2, 252. 
Self-denial, 404. 
Self-examination, 358. 

and the monastic life, 361. 

Self-realisation : as the end, 233. 

through self-sacrifice, 276-7. 

test of social progress, 308. 

the fundamental law, 323. 

Sense: moral, 140, 154, 177 seq. 
Sermon on the mount, 8. 
Servant and master, 409-410. 
Seth, Prof. A. : referred to, 425. 
Shaftesbury, 154, 178-9, 181. 



454 



INDEX. 



Shakespeare: quoted, 3, 53, 54, 
56, 65, 123, 375, 380, 390. 

Shand, A. F. : referred to, 87. 

Sidgwick, H. : on Mill's Utilitari- 
anism, 68-9. 

on the paradox of hedonism, 

69- 71. 

on the pleasures of pursuit, 

70- 71, 79-81. 

his relation to Kant, 194. 

on ethical and psychological 

hedonism, 212. 

on egoistic hedonism, 216. 

on seeking pleasure, 218. 

his proof of universalistic 

hedonism, 220 seq. 
— on conditions of pleasure, 

229. 

■ on justice, 312. 

referred to, 61, 194, 396. 

Simmel, Georg: his view of 

Ethics, 263-4. 
referred to, 92, 103, 145, 243, 

272, 299. 
Sin, 378 seq. 

original, loi. 

" besetting,' ' 360. 

the shadow of virtue, 376. 

never an impossibility, 376. 

and vice, 377. 

Slavery : forbidden, 300, 317- 
Slaves, emancipation of: and 

morality, 410-412. 
Smith, Adam : his view of ethics, 

140 seq. 

on books of casuistry, 322. 

on positive merit, 326. 

on morals of Charles II.' s 

time, 338. 

referred to, 323, 330, 383, 

Social philosophy, 32, 292. 

equilibrium, the, 242. 

unity and conscience, 285 seq. 

imperative, the, 291. 

— — contract, 300. 

institutions, 302 seq. 

progress, 308. 

order : respect for, 318-9. 

corruption, 391. 

evolution, 397-400. 



Socialism : and individualism, 
308-9. 

commandment of, 309. 

Society : and the individual, 573 

seq. 

a unity, 274. 

as the ethical environment, 

281. 

an organism, 282-4. 

war against, 375. 

failure of, 425-6. 

Sociology, 272. 

and ethics, 27-8, 37-8. 

(note on), 113. 

Socrates : on virtue as know- 
ledge, 77, 88. 

his ethics, 149 seq. 

referred to, 314, 370-1. 

Sophists, 148-9. 

Sophocles: referred to, 314. 

Sorley, Prof. : referred to, 246, 
425. 

Souls : beautiful, 362-3. 
Spencer, H. : his view of conduct, 

85. 

on development of life, 235. 

his ethics, 237-241, 247. 

on the conciliation of egoism 

and altruism, 275-6. 

on the ideal man, 291. 

referred to, 161, 263, 294, 

316, 431- 

Spinoza : on blessedness, 227, 
253- 

referred to, 157, 431. 

Spiritual life : deepening of, 403-4. 
Spontaneity : animal, 94. 
Springs of action, 132. 
State : the, 307. 

and duties, 327. 

Status: and contract, 300. 
Stephen, L. : on Samuel Clarke's 
Ethics, 176. 

on a moral rule, 242. 

on " social tissues," 283. 

on the family, 303. 

quoted, 171. 

Stoics : ideal of, i6r. 

view of happiness, 206. 

estimate of a good man, 279. 



INDEX. 



455' 



Stout, G, F. : on appetite, 45. 

on voluntary action, 58. 

referred to, 114. 

Subordination : in the family, 302. 

in the workshop, 303-4. 

Sip?imtcm boimvi^ 3) i4- 
Superstition : and religion, 433-4. 
Syllogism : the moral, 351 seq. 

Taste : the moral, 179-180. 

Taylor, A. E. : referred to, 252. 

Teleology : need of, 245 seq. 

and Spencer's view of evolu- 
tion, 247. 

Temperance : as a virtue, 341 
seq.y 404 seq. 

Theory : and practice, 255 seq. 

Thugs, 7. 

Titchener, E. B. : referred to, 73, 
209. 

Truth, respect for, 319-320. 

in religion and art, 421-2. 

in religion, 433. 

Types of ethical theory, 156 seq. 

Uniformities, 163-4. 

Universe : of desire, 47-9. 

higher and lower, 208-9, 250. 

and satisfaction, 210. 

the highest, is completely 

rational, 253. 

the social, 280-1. 

of moral activities, 337. 

broad and narrow, 373. 

moral : and remorse, 388. 

bringing up to a high, 390. 

the moral, 400. 

contradiction in our inner, 

401. 

the ideal, 412-4. 

Unknowable: the, 431. 

Utilitarianism : Mill an expo- 
nent of, 218-9. 

theory of, 218 seq. 

as pursuit of the useful, 221. 

end of, 222. 

practical value of, 260-2. 

its motives to seek the gen- 
eral happiness, 394. 



Utopias : relation to morality, 
412-3. 

Value : and pleasure, 222 sqq, 

sense of, 223. 

measure of, 224. 

Vice, 377. 

Vices : as virtues of early civilisa- 
tion, 374. 

classification of, 378. 

Virtue : a kind of knowledge, 
88. 

use of term, 325, 334. 

and duty, 334. 

nature of, 340. 

Virtues, 334 seq. 

and commandments, 334-5. 

and states of society, 335. 

relative to social functions, 

339- 

the cardinal, 340 seq. 

self-regarding and altruistic, 

342. 

four classes of, 344. 

what they are, 347-8. 

inner side of, 359. 

as outer fact and inward 

character, 407. 
Voluntary action : nature of, 98- 

100. 

Wallace, w. : 211, 436. 

Want : and appetite, 44 seq. 

prior to satisfaction, 71-2. 

War: when justified, 392. 
Ward, Dr. : quoted, 87. 

referred to, 209. 

Ward, Mrs. Humphry: quoted, 
350- 

Watson, Prof., 211, 436. 

Wedgwood, Miss : on the in- 
fluence of moral ideals, 
412-3. 

quoted, 288. 

Whitman, Walt: quoted, 354, 
365, 398. 

Will: the good, 15-16, 128-130. 

and art, 16. 



456 



INDEX. 



Will : and wish, 53-4. 

and act, 54-7, 129. 

■ force of, 56. 

and character, 57-8. 

and reason, 75-7. 

freedom of, 90-1. 

that wills nothing, 195. 

higher and lower forms of, 

208--9. 

Wisdom : a virtue, 341, 344. 

practical, 347. 

for one's self and others, 

347- 



Wish : an effective desire, 52. 

and will, 53-4. 

Wollaston : referred, to, 189. 
Women : rights of, 302, 403, 406, 
411. 

Wonder : a religion, 423. 
Wordsworth : quoted, 29, 108, 

196, 364, 370, 424- 
Work : and duty, 328. 
Workshop : the, 303-4. 
World, the : and the virtuous 

man, 368-9. 
Worship : what it is, 421. 



0 013 544 411 



